


the fish lives in the end

by connorsmarkus (neganstonguething)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angst, Blood and Violence, Blowjobs, Comedy, Drama, Drinking Games, Fluff, Human AU, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of drama, M/M, Marijuana, Minor Character Death, More will be added as the story progresses, Parental Issues, Past Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recreational Drug Use, Repressed Memories, Slice of Life, Some dark themes, That is all, Vomiting, but i'd advise yall to pay attention to connor too, eventual graphic sex, handjobs, markus just wants to do right by his dad okay, not like in gruesome detail, paint-covered makeouts, rebellious connor, so much drama okay, so pay close attention to the tags, some decently intense descriptions of death, the fish is a metaphor, the focus may be on markus recovering, there's a fist fight guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2019-08-02 18:34:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 142,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16310516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neganstonguething/pseuds/connorsmarkus
Summary: The cool Detroit winter breeze. The obnoxious light from the club’s sign. Loud music. Big brown eyes that take on all the light’s colors and make them their own. A soft smile, a breathy laugh. Hands tucked into the pockets of a long coat. Boots strolling down the sidewalk, crunching in the thin layer of snow. Three shots of vodka apiece. Soft hands with long, delicate fingers.These are the things that Markus can remember from that night. Healing, like incense. Strengthening, like sunlight.Markus could paint it, if he could just relearn how.





	1. big brown eyes

**Author's Note:**

> So, this fic has been on my mind for months, now. I actually think it's been getting in the way of me completing the last chapter of the other rk1k fic I've been posted. But now that I've got the first chapter out, I think I can get it rolling again. Sorry to keep those of you waiting!
> 
> Anywho, this was such an experience for me to write! Connor not having Anderson as a last name was a little bit of a trip, since most of the human AU ideas I've had have involved Hank being Connor's adoptive father. But alas, story elements require he be in a different situation this time!
> 
> A few things about the tags and warnings--while I checked the graphic depictions of violence warning, it's not going to be anything too gorey. Just perhaps a little more than most people are comfortable reading. I'll admit the whole thing involving the fish is going to be a bit obscure for a while as well. As for character death, this does not include the main cast. I didn't check major character death on the warnings for this reason, but there are some character deaths that occur with background characters (NOT Hank or Simon or Josh or North), and I just know how easily misconstrued messing with that warning can be.
> 
> I'm really excited about this work. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I'm enjoying writing it! This is supposed to be some sort of slice-of-lifey romcom with a heavy side of angst, so I hope it comes across that way!

_It slips again. Falls right between his fingers and onto the ground with a painfully wet sound. Fins flopping, mouth gaping, body desperately trying to throw itself back to safety. Again, on repeat, Markus tries to pick it up and return it to its aquarium. Again, on repeat, it slips out of his grasp. It’s in pain, it’s suffering, and no matter how Markus tries, he can’t return it to safety—_

—blue, yellow, red, yellow, red, blue. The light alternates in no particular order, illuminating an oversized ‘O’ on the gigantic ‘ _DetrOit_ ’ sign outside the bar. The music inside is so loud that it can be heard right down to the lyrics all the way from the line outside. Markus is tired. He doesn’t want to be here. He has class at eight-thirty in the morning—

— _it’s crumbling. Growing more and more injured with each pathetic fall it makes onto the carpeted ground beneath it. Markus paces the room in a panic, hands on his face and head and then sides. A sharp inhale, a shaky exhale. He doesn’t want to damage it anymore, but if it doesn’t get back to the water, it’ll die. But why won’t his hands work? Why can’t he just—_

—“ID, please.”

“…Sorry, I spaced out. What was that?”

“I need to see your ID, Sir.”

Markus clears his throat. “Right, sorry.” He digs into his pocket and fishes his license out of his wallet, passing it to the bouncer, who spends a few seconds scrutinizing it underneath a bright light. Eventually, he gives it back and then holds out a hand.

“The cover’s fifteen dollars.”

“Yeah, okay, of course—"

— _Markus attempts a deep breath, but it does nothing to calm his taut nerves. He can hear the fish glubbing hopelessly for air on the carpet, smell the scent of impending death. He reaches for his phone to call his father, but it slips from his grip and shatters to pieces as it hits the ground, too. Why? What’s going on? At this rate, the fish is going to die—_

— “Are you okay?”

Markus blinks, and for good reason. Now that his head is back in focus, he almost can’t see straight around the lights flickering around him from all over. The club his friends have taken him to is extremely heavy on the oscillating lights and strobe flashes. Markus has to take a few solid seconds to find the source of the voice that had pulled him out of his trance.

He doesn’t recognize this guy, but he does note that the flashing lights all seem to swirl around in his eyes and mingle there. Markus has paid enough attention to light sources and shadows and highlights during his many art studies that he can tell even in the confusing array of different colors surrounding them that this person’s eyes are brown. The color of honey-tea. His face is pale, almost ghostly in complexion, and he has the tiniest smattering of dark moles peppered on his neck and around his cheekbones and eyes. His hair hangs down over his forehead in soft, wispy tufts, colored the most gentle shade of brown. The lights don’t stand a chance against those strands.

“It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?” The person asks, gesturing around him.

Markus nods hastily. “Almost too much, honestly.” He reaches up to scrub at his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. “I’m not sure my head can take it.”

“Wait—” The guy’s eyes snap wide open. “You’re not going to start seizing on me or something, are you?”

Markus scoffs, and he suddenly realizes he’s smiling. “No, nothing like that. I’m just…a little overstimulated.” He laughs. “How did you get epilepsy out of that? I only said I had a headache.”

“You’d be surprised. I watched a man drop to the floor last week and start twisting around like he was possessed.”

Markus orders a drink for both of them. “That’s insane. Hope the guy’s okay.”

“Me too. Haven’t seen him since.” Brown Eyes smiles, and it looks almost serene despite what they’ve been talking about. “You don’t come here often, do you?”

“More like never.”

“I’m Connor,” the brown-eyed man introduces, extending a hand out. “Connor Stern.”

Markus smiles and shakes the proffered hand. “Markus Manfred.”

\--- --- --- --- ---

“Markus Manfred, I swear to fucking God!”

North’s voice is always fierce, but this particular morning, it feels like nails on a chalkboard. Each and every syllable grates its way down Markus’ spine like it’s made of the sharp barbs on a cactus. But Markus knows why she’s in here. She’s waking him up because he’s likely gone and overslept. Considering last night, he doesn’t doubt it. He sits up in his bed and looks about the room. Blinding light decorates his bedroom in bright stripes, one of those stripes cascading right across his face. He raises a hand to shield his eyes from the offending glow.

“You’re late for class. Come on. I’ll have you know I’m not afraid to shove your clothes on for you.”

“No, of course you’re not,” Markus responds around a sigh, moving to push himself to the edge of his bed. His head is pounding. “Jesus…how drunk did I get last night?”

“You got pretty hammered.” North laughs and tosses a shirt his way. Despite his impaired physical state, he has the reflex to catch the article in his fingers, as well as the pants and socks she casts in his direction seconds after. “You didn’t have much to drink, though. You’re a real lightweight, Markus.”

North knows Markus too well. She’d warned him earlier that night to be careful of how much he drank, mostly because she knows he doesn’t spend much of his time partying. Going to clubs and dancing until he can’t walk aren’t usually on his list of things to do on the weekend. But because North, Simon, and Josh seemed to think he needed a night out, he’d gone.

He can’t remember much, though. He vaguely recalls a pair of big brown eyes and the hissing of the cold Detroit wind against his face, the sound of soft laughter and the brush of hands sliding into coat pockets. A light dusting of snow. Beyond that, though, it’s all hazy, and Markus’ head hurts too badly for him to bother trying to remember anything else.

Besides, he’s got to get to class. He dresses quickly and heads to the restroom to brush his teeth. North stops in the doorway, an elbow braced against the doorframe. “I left aspirin and water on the kitchen counter. Eat a banana or something too, okay?”

“Yes, Mom,” Markus teases around a mouthful of toothpaste suds. He watches North’s gaze drop downward in the mirror. She worries at her lower lip a little, and then looks back up to meet his eyes.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Hungover,” Markus replies as he spits into the sink.

“No, I mean…you know…”

Of course Markus knows. The whole reason he was dragged out last night was because his friends had suspected he wasn’t adjusting to the loss of his father well. And to tell the truth, Markus hasn’t been. Death happens, though, and Carl sure as hell wouldn’t want him dwelling on it, so he’s doing his best.

He and all his friends know, however, that he won’t be back on his feet until he can figure out how to paint again. He hasn’t finished a single piece since his father’s passing, and sometimes, he’s not so sure he’ll ever be able to.

“I’m fine, North.” Markus sighs and wipes his mouth with a towel, before he turns and leans back against the sink. “This kind of thing takes time.”

“I know,” North says, raising a hand to scrub nervously at the side of her neck. “But your degree depends on this, Markus. It’s been three months.”

“It takes years for most people,” Markus comments.

“Most people aren’t studying for the very thing they’ve forgotten how to do.” North sounds firm, and Markus balks a little in response. “Maybe you’d do better by taking a break for a semester or two.”

“You know I can’t do that.” Markus glares down at the palm of his left hand. “The longer I put it off, the more rusty I get. I’ll have to relearn everything.”

“You might have to do that anyway, Markus.” North crosses her arms and props herself up against the doorframe. “In fact, maybe that’s what you need to do. Maybe it’s time to start from square one.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Suddenly, Markus feels anxious. He knows his tone is suddenly sharper, and he almost instantly feels guilty for it. North is just looking out for him. Like Simon and Josh, she’s worried. He’s taken Carl’s death far harder than he could’ve ever hoped to be prepared for. And he had known for years about his father’s illness. “That’s like asking me to start school all over again.”

North sighs. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I just…”

“I know,” Markus reaches out and gives her shoulder a squeeze. “And I thank you for it. But I’ll get there, okay? Just bear with me. Please.”

There’s a long pause, before North nods in response. “Okay, yeah. You need to get to class, anyway.”

“I do.” Markus laughs breathily as North shifts out of his way, making his way into the kitchen. “I’m almost never late, though. Maybe I’ll get a one-time pardon.”

“Not likely,” North retorts, arms still crossed, as she follows Markus and moves to stand in front of the bar that separates the kitchen and living room. “Steward’s infamous for being a stickler for the rules.”

Markus shrugs and downs the pills North left for him. She’s always been there for him. They’ve known one another ever since Markus moved to Detroit in first grade. She was the first one to welcome him with open arms, and when they met Josh and Simon in third grade, they all became inseparable. Team Jericho, as Simon had called it at such a young age. The determined and fiery North, the passionate and headstrong Markus, wise and loyal Simon, and intelligent and compassionate Josh. They’ve been together for everything ever since.

So undoubtedly, Markus appreciates everything she and Josh and Simon have done for him. He finishes off the water in his glass and places it in the sink. “He’ll have to get over it today. Thanks for the medicine. Lock up on your way out, okay?”

“As if you have to tell me,” North says with a laugh, before she closes the door behind Markus. He and all three of his friends share an apartment not far from campus. Sure, Markus could afford a house under his late father’s dime, but he refuses to rely on Carl’s money for the rest of his life. He’s got a small emergency fund set up just in case, and Carl insisted upon paying for his schooling (another reason he won’t just take a break), but beyond that, he’s got to learn to walk on his own two feet. That’s one of the biggest lessons his father taught him.

Besides, Leo’s eating up enough of the money with his own bad habits. Markus checks in on his brother every now and then, but most times, Leo is off doing his own thing. Carl’s death has made him even harder to track down, too, and even though Markus and Leo have their tensions, he worries about his brother regularly.

That’s a part of what makes it a little harder to get up in the mornings and go to class. Markus can’t go to Carl for advice about a particularly hard assignment, or about Leo. He can’t visit with him about his latest project, or about the goings-on at school. About North’s new girlfriend or the gaudy-ass bar he attended last night with all its bright lights and pretty brown-eyed boys.

It’s not going to get easier for a very long time.

Halfway through Steward’s lecture, it starts to rain. Markus turns his gaze out to the window, watching the water rolling down the glass in streaks. He thinks about how that would look on a canvas. Wonders if he could capture the crispness of the glass against the fluidity of the water. The gray of the sky outside in contrast to the denseness of the trees surrounding the sidewalks. He wants to try and create it.

Little bursts of inspiration like this come and go frequently. One day, it was the sight of yellowed textbook pages in an open book with a pen laid across the spine. Many times, it’s been the sounds of emotion coming from the chattering students in the classroom, or the mindless drone of the professor toward the end of a particularly long lecture.

And Markus tries every single time. He feels empowered and excited at first, and his pace quickens as he walks briskly toward the art room. He’s always a little giddy as he places the canvas on top of the easel and turns his attention toward all the messy brushes and paint cans scattered about the tables in the art room.

And then it never fails. He hits a wall. What color is the right color? What color would Carl have suggested? Is he going at this from the right angle? Should he have shifted his mind’s eye up and to the left a bit? Why isn’t it coming out right? Why can’t Markus do it without Carl encouraging him from nearby?

Today follows the same pattern. Markus suffers his way through the rest of a Western Art lecture (one he normally rather enjoys, but Steward’s droning is too much for his aching skull today), and when it’s finally over, he jogs out of class and straight for the art building. He revels in the dry smell of the old building as he shoves the double doors open and follows the path he’s so familiar with. One, two, three doors, and then a right into the fourth door. Paint fumes, soap, and the scent of old drywall fill his nostrils. He smiles and strides straight for an easel, placing a big square canvas on it. He spends some time mixing colors, and then turns his focus to the canvas.

And as per the usual pattern, that’s where it all goes awry. Should he start with the shape of the window and the world around it? Should he paint the trees and sidewalks outside first and then layer on the window and the rain? Or should he start with the rain first? Should he focus solely _on_ the rain? Which part should overshadow the other? What’s the most important aspect to the image? What does Markus want to _convey?_

But that’s the thing. He doesn’t want to convey anything. He wants to paint. He just wants to be able to put something on a canvas again. He wants to see his art come to life the way it used to. Painting has _never_ been this difficult for him. Sure, it’s always been a challenge, but the fun was always in learning new things. But if he can’t so much as throw one brush stroke onto a canvas, what is he even doing? Why does he bother?

God, Carl would be disappointed.

“Damn it…” Markus places the palette back onto the table and lets the brush fall from his fingers. It clinks and bounces on the ground, and Markus thinks that maybe he can draw it too, but then he realizes he _can’t_ , because he can’t even get the bristles of his brush to meet the surface he’s trying to paint on.

So he grabs a pencil. Attempts a sketch. He’ll create the lines, right? Give himself an image to refer to as he paints. He can erase his mistakes and slowly decide what to do with it. He can do this, damn it. He can _do_ this.

But no matter what he does, the lines don’t look right. The rainwater is too jagged, the trees too hazy. The window doesn’t look like a window at all. The sidewalks don’t make sense. The image in Markus’ head has gotten so twisted out of line that he can’t even picture the scene he had so admired back during his lecture.

Thunder roars, and his pencil drops. Markus bends down to pick it up, and as the power in the art room goes out, the pencil slips from his fingers again. The lead breaks and Markus freezes.

_It’s growing more broken. The more he moves to pick it up, the more he damages it. Why can’t Markus pick it up? Why can’t he save it? Why can’t he fix what’s been broken, or at the very least, pick up the pieces?_

In the darkness of the art room, Markus raises both hands to either side of his head and doubles over. He rests his forehead on the concrete and bites back a scream. He’s so frustrated and defeated. He’s never felt this weak before. Why can’t he move on? Why didn’t anyone tell him that losing someone was this damned challenging? What is he supposed to do? How does he get out of this?

“Markus!”

Simon’s voice reaches Markus’ ears, but he doesn’t move. Lightning flashes, and he wonders if maybe he could attempt to sketch lightning. His lines had been looking pretty jagged, after all. Like lightning.

But his head is still pounding from the hangover. He doesn’t want to try again. Not right now. He’s so drained all of a sudden.

“Markus…Jesus, this again?” He feels the warmth of Simon’s hand on his shoulder and moves to sit upright. Even in the darkness of the art room, he can see the marks his pencil has made on the canvas. His attempted sketch. The smudged lines created by the eraser. “Can’t you take it easy for a few weeks or something?”

Markus doesn’t bother mentioning how much his and Josh’s suggestions often clash with North’s, because he knows his friends are only looking out for him. In the end, they all want him to stop trying so hard to force himself into something that obviously causes him a great deal of stress. He can’t stop, but that isn’t the point.

“I’m backsliding,” Markus responds, shaking his head. “I’ll lose everything if I stop.”

“That’s ridiculous, Markus.” Simon helps him to his feet. “You just lost your dad. You’re allowed to be uninspired for a while, alright?”

Markus feels a little dizzy. Perhaps throwing himself onto the ground like he had wasn’t the right way to go about dealing with his issues, because now, he feels queasy. He hadn’t eaten anything like North had suggested, and now the emptiness of his stomach and the hangover still nagging at his system are coming back with a vengeance.

Simon notices, too. “…You look like you’re about to throw up everywhere. Let’s get you home.”

“I’m fine,” Markus protests, waving a hand as he moves to grab for his bookbag, but his stomach turns violently and he instead bolts for the restroom.

At the very least, his body waited long enough for the aspirin to kick in and for him to get through class. But now that he’s just finished upending his stomach into the sink, he really _does_ want to take Simon’s advice and get home. He washes his mouth out and then emerges from the bathroom, where Simon is still waiting for him. Those blue eyes are wide with concern, and when they lock onto Markus’ mismatched ones, his brow furrows down into a frown.

“You don’t look so good, Markus.”

“Yeah, I know,” Markus waves him off. “That going home thing. Let’s do that.”

\--- --- --- --- ---

As it turns out, the thing that had Markus sick to his stomach in the art room wasn’t just the nasty combination of a hangover and stress. By some twist of fate, he’s contracted a relentless stomach flu that’s had him quarantined away in his bedroom for three days now. But he’s recovering quickly. At the very least, he can actually keep food down. North, Simon, and Josh take turns passing crackers and soups and Gatorade through a barely opened door with masks on their faces. Today, it’s Josh’s turn.

“I’m not throwing up anymore,” Markus answers exasperatedly as Josh holds a can of Lysol up into the air after passing a bottle of blue Gatorade through the crack in the door. He jumps back just in time to avoid the spray of the offending disinfectant, and then narrows blue and green eyes at his friend. “Seriously, I’m probably not even contagious anymore. Can I please come out?”

“Do I want your death? No way in hell,” Josh retorts plainly, sounding not unlike how North had sounded yesterday. It’s all starting to run together at this point. “Give it a few more hours, Markus. I’ll bring you a sandwich and if you’re not barfing that up, we know you’re getting better.”

“ _I_ know I’m getting better,” Markus groans in protest. “Guys, I’m itching to see more than my television screen. This has got to be illegal somehow.”

From his bedroom door, the living room is visible. North and Simon are gathered around a laptop screen together. The latter turns his head to regard Markus over the couch.

“A few more hours, Markus,” Simon answers. “That’s all we ask. Take a nap or something.”

“I’m not lying down right after eating a sandwich.”

The door shuts in his face there, and Markus sighs deeply. Sometimes, he thinks his friends are _too_ good to him. He knows they mean well by keeping him on lockdown like this, but god if he’s not restless. He just wants to get out and do something. Even going to that obnoxious bar with the glaring sign outside would be a pleasant change from _Friends_ reruns and his third straight _The Evil Within_ playthrough. Markus is normally a very patient man, but right now, he feels as if he’s coming right out of his skin.

Irritated, he takes a shower and then plops down into his chair and puts on _72 Most Dangerous Places to Live_ while he waits for his aforementioned ‘few hours’ to pass by.

No offense, Netflix—your show is interesting and all, but Markus can’t really focus right now. He finds himself looking at just about anything other than the television screen. He scans the ceiling and the window, the carpet, the bed he has yet to make. He should probably wash those sheets. In fact, he’ll do just that _once he’s set free from his damned room_. His desk is a mess, too. God, he supposes he could have been doing a lot while he was all-but grounded here.

Markus pushes himself up from his chair and walks over to his desk. The dark-cherry-finished surface is littered with notebook scraps, textbooks, a calculator, several pencils, and even a couple of paintbrushes. Markus’ phone sits on the corner, and he unconsciously moves it away from the edge. He gathers up the sheets of paper and straightens them out, placing them in one of the textbooks and closing it around them. The pencils are placed in a cup at the back of the desk. Markus opens the drawer to put away the calculator, and then he spots another book.

An old sketchbook. Really old, as in from his childhood. Markus still remembers the pictures inside. Doodles he and his friends drew during recreation hours in school. Little block people with big spiral fingers and scribbles for hair. Markus remembers them fondly, just like he had when he’d pulled the notebook out of storage after his father had passed.

He takes a seat in his chair, sketchbook in hand, and allows himself to get lost in the images. He smiles at the crudely-made doodle Simon drew of North and Josh in a fist fight. It’s mostly scribbles that someone who hadn’t witnessed the drawing taking place wouldn’t be able to discern, but Markus sees exactly what Simon was trying to convey.

He’s so engrossed in brushing his fingers over the colored-pencil drawings and remembering the days the images were drawn that he doesn’t realize how much time has passed. The door swings open violently, and Markus jumps. He gapes up at a nervous-looking North.

“Shit, I’m so sorry!” She squeals, extending a plate out to him. “I forgot your sandwich hours ago! You can come out now!”

Markus can’t even bring himself to be irritated, mostly because he’s found something to do to keep himself occupied during the course of his isolation time, but hearing that he gets to see the living room again, he’s at his feet in seconds. He places the sketchbook on the desk on the way out and snatches the plate from North.

He’s halfway through a bite of a turkey sandwich with lettuce and cheese when Simon pops up from the couch. “Welcome back to the world of the living.” He ignores the way Markus rolls his eyes. “By the way, I think we may have found a way to help you get back into the swing of painting again.”

Markus cocks an eyebrow. He’s not sure what anyone could do to fix that particular problem, but he waits for Simon to explain, munching away at his sandwich.

“You need a muse.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know,” Josh agrees from the other end of the couch, sucking on a bottle of orange juice, “a muse. Someone or something that provides you with inspiration.”

“We know you usually go by something in your surroundings, but maybe that’s the problem,” Simon adds. “I think you should try referencing human models.”

“…I’ve done that before, guys.” Markus sighs. “We’ve had human models in some of my classes.”

North takes a seat in an armchair near the couch, throwing her legs over one of the arms. She waves a hand, dismissing Markus’ words as if they’re bothersome gnats. “No, not like that. You need someone you can draw in any environment. They can come here, pose however you want, and you can just…do your thing.”

“And you get to look at a naked person as often as you want.” Simon shrugs.

“They don’t have to be naked to model, though,” Josh clarifies. “I swear to god, Markus, if I walk in to some guy’s junk blocking the view of the TV—”

“—okay, first of all,” Markus interrupts, tossing the rest of his sandwich in the trash, “why would I want the TV in whatever I’m painting? Second, I never agreed to any of this.”

“You don’t have to.” North smirks from nearby. “We already paid them, and they’re coming over first thing tomorrow morning. You don’t have to worry about us being around for most of the day since we’ve all got class, so you can have them pose wherever without getting in our way.”

“You’re _paying_ them?” Markus slaps a hand over the front of his face and groans in defeat. “Now, I don’t have a choice.” He can’t help but feel like this situation isn’t going to go much more smoothly than all his attempts to paint in the art building on campus, but if his friends actually shelled out cash for this, he can’t go back on it. He’s got to at least try. God forbid it turn out to be another failed attempt…

“Precisely,” Simon replies, smiling at Markus over the couch. “Just give it a shot. For us, okay?”

“You already know I’m going to, seeing as you _paid_ a person without telling me.”

\--- --- --- --- ---

Setting up for this person’s arrival almost feels like getting ready for a date. Markus isn’t sure what he’s supposed to wear, or if he should have the apartment cleaned up properly. Should he wait to dig out his art supplies so this person’s impression of his home isn’t totally awful? Should he make them something to eat? Should he go out and get drinks? What the hell does he _do?_

Markus is up way too early that morning. He’s cleaning around North and Simon and Josh, who are all getting ready for their lectures for the morning, and he continues to clean well into all of them leaving. Once he’s satisfied, he hops into the shower, and then places an order for breakfast to be delivered. He settles on a black and green hoodie and a pair of gray jeans to wear. If this person is coming over and they’re not leaving the apartment, Markus surely doesn’t have to dress up too extravagantly, right?

He’s not sure exactly what time his apparent muse is supposed to arrive, but he guesses he’s ready for it now. Literally the only clue he’d been given was that the person would be there in the morning.

It’s pushing almost noon, though, and the person hasn’t arrived yet. The delivered breakfast is cold on the counter now, and Markus has already swept right on past being irritated and gone straight to angry. If North, Simon, and Josh actually paid for this person’s help, they had better not stand him up. How would he explain that to his friends?

However, you hire some strange guy to come over and pose as someone’s art model, and of course that strange guy is gonna take the cash and run. Who wants to sit still in a likely uncomfortable position, potentially naked, for an unnamed amount of hours, anyway?

But still. It’s not right to just…flake out like that.

Markus stuffs the cold breakfast into the fridge and instead pours himself a soda, plopping down onto the couch and turning on the television. He turns on Bob Ross, and just as he’s getting comfortable, his doorbell rings.

 _Finally_.

Getting to his feet, Markus storms to the door. He’s got quite the string of irritated words on the tip of his tongue, from demanding some of the pay his friends shelled out back to the classic ‘I hope you’ve got an explanation for this’, but he stops dead in his tracks when he opens the door.

“Sorry I’m late—I’m not familiar with this area, and my phone’s not getting any…signal...”

_The cool Detroit winter breeze. The obnoxious light from the club’s sign. Loud music. Big brown eyes that take on all the light’s colors and make them their own. A soft smile, a breathy laugh. Hands tucked into the pockets of a long coat. Boots strolling down the sidewalk, crunching in the thin layer of snow. Three shots of vodka apiece. Soft hands with long, delicate fingers._

“…Markus Manfred.”

Markus quite honestly never thought he’d see this person again. But here said person is, standing right in front of him. His cheeks are flushed from the cold air outside, making it obvious that he really had been searching for a while. His big brown eyes are wide and seem to swallow Markus whole. He’s got a paper clutched in his hands, but those hands drop to his sides and instead, he stares, lips hanging open, waiting for a response.

Markus clears his throat and gapes down at him. “Connor Stern. Come in.”


	2. Footsteps in the Snow

_“You even talk like an artist.”_

_Connor is laughing, and his laughter is contagious enough to have Markus doing the same._

_“Is it the booze talking,” Connor continues, “or are you always full of metaphors and philosophical questions?”_

_“It’s all important things,” Markus responds. “So I like thinking about life. Is it that big a deal?”_

_“Do me a favor, Markus.”_

_In the night sky, several blocks away from that annoying night club with its redundant music and unpredictable light schemes, Connor walks with his hands tucked into the pockets of his long winter jacket. Snow peppers his hair, making the brown strands look even softer than they already do. Markus is more than just a little mesmerized._

_“Hmm?” He’s also more than just a little buzzed. Enough that his steps feel lighter and the cold winter air a little warmer than it should. Enough that every single word Connor says feels like the gospel compared to the music they can still hear in the block’s worth of distance they’ve made between themselves and the club._

_“Pull out your phone and ask Google what a metaphor is.”_

_“Connor, I know—”_

_“—I’m sure you do,” Connor argues around a laugh, “but ask it anyway.”_

_Markus frowns, but obeys anyway. He pulls out his phone and unlocks it. “…Okay, Google: what’s a metaphor?”_

_The phone beeps in acknowledgement and in a chipper, feminine voice, Google responds:_

_“Here’s the definition for metaphor: A figure of speech in which a word or phrase is applied to an object or action to which it is not literally applicable.”_

_Markus looks up at Connor and shrugs. “Okay, so?”_

_“Also:” Connor continues, his voice just as professional and polite as Google’s, “A thing regarded as representative or symbolic of something else, especially something abstract.”_

_A quick glance down at his phone and the rest of the definition his search pulled up tells Markus that Connor is directly quoting the second definition, word for word. Markus laughs. “How many times have you looked up that definition?”_

_“More times than I care to admit,” Connor replies as they continue walking. “But I’m stuck on it. Have been for a while, now. Think about it—why did we invent that word?”_

_Markus isn’t following. “I don’t know, Connor…to have it in our vocabulary what happens when you compare something to something else abstract? It’s a literary term. We have a lot of them.”_

_“It is,” Connor turns his head up toward the sky as the snow starts to fall harder, “but what if it’s more than that? We see metaphors because we’re looking to make one thing more beautiful than it normally is. Because that one boring thing…we’re looking to give it more meaning. Someone’s hair doesn’t just blow in the wind. Rain doesn’t just fall down. When a person is stuck in the quagmire in their mind, they’re not literally stuck in quagmire. It’s a metaphor. It brings more meaning and beauty to what’s going on in reality. There’s always more to everything. Nothing is as cut and dry as the words we give it.”_

_Is Markus just drunk, or is this conversation really deep?_

_“What if you were to look at everything on this planet as a metaphor? To see everything as something more meaningful?” Connor stops walking._

_“For example?” Markus questions. He thinks that maybe he’s had a little too much to drink to follow this, but listening to Connor talking is so very enthralling that he’ll keep doing so even if he’s too far gone to understand it all._

_“Well,” Connor draws his gaze down to the sidewalk. “Our footsteps in the snow, for example. It shows that we’re going somewhere. But where? Is it just the path we’re walking, or is this a metaphor for the both of us moving forward? Where are you walking, Markus? Is it toward something? Or away from something?”_

_Markus can’t possibly begin to hide the shock on his face. Maybe Connor deduced all this from the fact that he’d been dragged out to a bar with his friends and hadn’t even wanted to spend much time in the place, or maybe his words had just been lucky guesses. Either way, he’s got Markus gawking at him like he’s suddenly sprouted a horn from that perfect, snow-covered hair of his._

_And he looks utterly mesmerizing in the process. The wind chooses that precise moment to kick up, sending the tufts of soft hair swirling in gentle wisps around the top of his head. Brown eyes twinkle in the night, and on Connor’s smooth lips rests the most placid of smiles. For a moment, Markus thinks he could get lost in that face—just lose himself forever, letting his eyes map out the curves and edges and the gentle push and pull of the words that still reverberate in his head._

_There’s also something in Connor’s expression that tells Markus that question isn’t just for him. Something behind those big brown eyes says that Connor isn’t sure whether he’s walking toward or away from something, himself. What’s on his mind? Is this his way of opening up to Markus about it? How is Markus supposed to handle that?_

_And then Connor bursts out laughing. As relaxed as ever, as if he hadn’t just drunkenly professed the most philosophical question of the night to Markus just seconds ago. He reaches out and claps a hand on his new friend’s shoulder. “Try not to think so hard about it. It’s just something I came up with.”_

_But Markus genuinely feels lost. He turns his gaze up to the winter sky. Everything grows hazy._

_\--- --- --- --- ---_

“Markus.”

Markus opens his eyes. He’s on his back, with what feels like the couch cushions beneath his head and body. He recognizes Connor’s eyes staring down at him from over the back of the couch. Connor is doubled over the edge of it like he lives there. Markus feels equal parts relieved that Connor is as comfortable here as he is and also genuinely shocked by the sudden invasion of his personal space.

“You’ve got blue Powerade in the fridge. Can I have one?”

Blue Powerade is a favorite drink of everyone living in Markus’ apartment. Apparently, Connor enjoys it too. Either way, Markus nods and moves to sit up. “…I fell asleep.”

“Halfway through _Cruel Intentions,_ too,” Connor responds from the kitchen.

“I’ve only seen it about sixty times,” Markus defends blandly, pivoting on the couch to watch as Connor pours the Powerade into a glass. “You could drink that from the bottle, you know.”

Connor looks up from taking a drink, both brown eyebrows raising high up onto his forehead. Markus watches Connor’s throat bob as he swallows a drink of the liquid. “I suppose I should’ve asked before using a glass, huh?”

Markus shakes his head. “It’s one glass, no big deal. I just don’t understand why you didn’t unscrew the lid and drink from the bottle like people usually do.”

Connor chuckles as he makes his way into the living room and takes a seat next to Markus on the couch. He’s got that same serene smile he’d worn on his face back when they’d met at the bar. “You said it yourself: I’m not like most people.”

“When did I say that?”

Connor just shrugs. Markus notices that even though he’s done everything else to make himself at home here, Connor sits very rigidly. His back is straight, his knees bent at just the right angle, and after he leans forward to place the glass on a coaster on the coffee table, he places his hands in his lap as if he’s waiting to speak to someone at a job interview. Markus’ face is visibly wracked with perplexity, and maybe Connor picks up on that, because he clears his throat.

“So, I was paid to model for you.”

Markus glances down at his phone on the coffee table. It’s nearly four o’clock in the afternoon. It’s a surprise none of his friends have gotten home yet. Knowing them, they’ve probably made plans to stay out for long enough for Markus and Connor to do their thing. They’re likely hoping to come home to some sort of masterpiece. A proud-looking Markus beaming from ear to ear and telling them with the same delight as a kid on Christmas that he finally managed to paint something.

But the truth is, he and Connor have done a solid nothing. They’ve watched a couple of movies and Markus helped Connor get past a few levels on Word Cookies on his phone, but other than that, they’ve just lounged around. North and Simon and Josh might as well have just paid Connor to be Markus’ new best friend.

“Yeah…you were,” Markus replies thoughtfully. But when he ponders the matter further, it doesn’t feel right. Connor isn’t even remotely hard on the eyes, but when Markus looks at him, he doesn’t feel that same jolt of inspiration like he does when he peers out the window during class or at an artistically-placed pencil atop an open book. He doesn’t see Connor popping up on a canvas.

“Well?” Connor shrugs. “We should probably get around to that, don’t you think?”

Markus wonders just how much Connor knows of his situation. If he can’t recall telling Connor he wasn’t like other people during that drunken night at the bar (at least, he’s guessing that’s where it happened), there’s no way he can remember if he delved why his friends dragged him out there in the first place. Connor doesn’t seem to regard him with the same pitying expression North and Simon and Josh do, but that doesn’t mean anything…

“…Is this your line of work?” Markus questions suddenly. “Modeling? Y’know, for artists?”

“Not necessarily,” Connor replies with a shrug. “I mean, I’m definitely good at it. You don’t have to worry about that. But would you be disappointed to learn that your model’s actually just a pharmacy tech at your local Walmart?”

Markus shakes his head. “Whatever pays the bills, Connor. It’s your life, not mine. I just…don’t know how they happened upon you.”

“Hmm,” Connor looks genuinely thoughtful, “that _is_ a little curious, isn’t it?”

“You aren’t in school for it or anything?”

Connor shakes his head. “I was. Not anymore, though.” He taps both his knees with his hands at that, and pushes himself into a standing position. “But if you’re going to focus on me, it needs to be with a paintbrush while I go stand…” He pivots slowly, a hand raised to his chin in thought, as he scans the living room. There’s a big open space where a dining room table should probably go, but it’s empty. Markus and his friends usually put the Christmas tree or card table there, but right now, it’s wide open. Connor points to it. “Over there.”

“Connor—”

“—I’m aware of your situation,” Connor informs him simply as he strides over. “You’ve been having trouble painting ever since your father passed away. Your friends think having a human model might make things a little easier for you. So, let’s try it.”

“Connor, I don’t think I—”

“Don’t think, Markus.” When Markus looks up to regard those big brown eyes in response to those words, he finds himself temporarily frozen by how stern that gaze is. “ _Know_. And if you don’t know, find out.”

Connor reminds Markus of the changing of the seasons. The gentle, soft sway of winter as it moves into spring, and then the harsh tug of spring as it shifts to summer. The tender way summer shifts into fall, followed by the violent switch from fall to winter. A soft push, a harsh pull, a gentle, guiding hand, and then words so jarring they make Markus lose his footing.

Like the sway of winter into spring, Markus glides to his feet and heads down the hall into his room. He fishes a sketchbook out of the drawer in his desk and digs a case of art pencils out of his closet. He ambles back into the living room just in time to find that Connor has picked a stool up from the bar dividing the living room and kitchen and placed it in the middle of the open dining area. He’s perched atop it in that same rigid position he’d been in on the couch.

“…No…” Markus thinks aloud. “Do something natural. You don’t look comfortable.”

Connor frowns.

“I thought you’ve done this before.” Markus returns his frown.

“Not for paintings, no.” Connor shakes his head. “I can pose for pictures, and I can wear just about any clothes you give me, but sitting still for a traditional artist? That’s a new one for me.”

“Well,” Markus places his sketchbook and art supplies down onto the coffee table, “I’m not painting a statue. I’m painting a person.” He waves Connor off the stool and removes the object from the room altogether. “Be yourself. Pose like a human.”

Connor looks visibly confused. He seems lost in thought for several moments, before he strides back to the coffee table and reaches for his drink. He sips on it, and then as if blue Powerade is the fountain of knowledge itself, he lights up in realization. The drink is returned to the table with a gentle clink, and when Connor stands upright, he looks about the room again. “…Where’s your bedroom?”

Markus frowns, but motions down the hall. “First one on the left.”

Connor nods. “Follow me, then.” He doesn’t bother with explanations as he heads straight for Markus’ room and opens the door. Markus follows him inside. His bed is unmade, but for the most part, the room is clean. He tenses when he sees that Connor is making a beeline for the closet door.

“Hey, I could have something in there I don’t want you to see,” Markus tries, but Connor has already found what he’s looking for. He yanks a hoodie off one of the hangers and tosses it onto Markus’ bed.

“Turn around, Markus,” he instructs, and before Markus can ask why, he unzips his pants and lets them fall around his ankles.

“…Connor, what the hell…?” Despite the protest, Markus turns around and faces his doorway again. Who in the hell have his friends invited into his house? “Can you at least tell me why you’re changing into my clothes?”

“I’m getting more comfortable,” Connor answers around the shuffling noises his clothes are making while he changes. “Trust me, I’ve got an idea. You can turn around, now.”

When Markus faces him, something in the pit of his stomach leaps. Connor’s wearing nothing but his boxers and Markus’ blue and black Detroit hoodie. The hoodie already fits big on Markus, and even though Connor’s just a couple of inches shorter than him, he’s so slender in frame that he’s practically swimming in the article. It hangs all the way down to his thighs and the sleeves are too long, just barely exposing his fingertips. It’s baggy on him, but he definitely has one thing right—it looks comfortable.

Markus realizes that the sight appeals to him far more than just between artist and subject. He likes the way Connor wears that hoodie. It practically belongs on him. Despite that, he clears his throat. “Were your own clothes not comfortable?”

“They weren't uncomfortable,” Connor answers as he crawls onto Markus' bed and flops down like it’s his own. “They just didn’t look like something a person would normally wear to bed.”

So, Connor chose his bed because it looked more natural than sitting on a stool in the dining area. He chose the sweater because he wouldn’t look out of place in an unmade bed. Now, he's all relaxed up against the pillows in a half-sitting position, waiting patiently. This whole time, he’s been searching for a more natural way to pose in order to convince Markus to give drawing him a shot.

Markus still doesn’t feel that urge to paint, though. He had figured that starting with a sketch and transferring it to a canvas with paint later would be a good start, just to see if he could get any kind of image on paper. The thing is, though, he doesn’t want to draw Connor. He wants to spend time with him. But his friends actually handed out cash for this, and Connor is legitimately trying to help. Markus has to do right by them somehow.

That in mind, he looks around his room for a few moments, before he grabs a book from his desk. It’s a textbook from his Western Art class with Steward, but at least it looks more normal than Connor just sitting there looking at him. He offers it out to Connor, who wrinkles his nose at it.

“Why?”

“So you have something to read while I work. This could take a while, so you’re probably going to want something to do.”

Connor blinks, and then waves the book away. Instead, he doubles over the bed and grabs his pants, fishing around in the pockets. He resurfaces with his phone. “Get with the times, Markus,” he teases.

Markus watches Connor wave the phone around for a moment, tracing the movement of the object, before Connor settles himself at the head of the bed. He fluffs up two of Markus’ many pillows, props them up behind his back, and then crosses his legs and starts scrolling around on his phone.

“What’re you going to play?” Markus wonders as he takes a seat at his desk chair and turns to face Connor. He grabs his sketchbook and one of his pencils.

“I’m not,” Connor responds. He turns his phone around so Markus can see the screen. “I’m reading. That’s what you suggested, right?”

“You didn’t have to take it literally,” Markus defends with a hint of amusement curling his lips upward, raising his free hand in surrender, “you can do what you want—you don’t have to read just because I thought it would be a good idea.”

“I happened to like your idea,” Connor answers, before he turns his phone back around and continues reading. “You should draw, now.”

Connor’s right. Enough procrastinating. Markus closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He tries to remember the way he’d felt on those many days when he had found inspiration and been able to act upon it. When he’d seen something so mundane and at the same time so beautiful and wanted to bring it to life in his work. He lets his eyes open once more and sets his gaze on Connor.

And that’s when he realizes why Connor hasn’t struck that artistic nerve yet. Markus has been looking for inspiration in him in the same way he looks for inspiration in everything he paints. He’s been looking for mundane and beautiful, and while Connor has the ‘beautiful’ part down to a science without even meaning to, he’s anything but mundane.

Markus thinks back to that casual smile that broke through the barrier of all those lights at the club. To the calm way with which he had spoken. To his odd, roundabout wisdom. To the dream he had had of a memory he hadn’t realized he’d had. Connor leaning over the couch and asking him for Powerade, and then proceeding to pour it into a cup instead of drinking it straight. Stripping and changing into Markus’ clothes despite not knowing him for more than half a day in total. He’s so very unpredictable, and he’s _good_ at it whether he’s trying or not, that there’s absolutely nothing normal about him. And that’s what makes him so goddamned beautiful.

What else had happened on the night that they had met? Markus finds he desperately wants to remember. Why had Connor thought so deeply about something as simple as a metaphor? What kind of life does he come from?

Connor is doing the most mundane of things right now. He’s made himself comfortable on Markus’ bed, and he’s got his phone in his hands. He can see the glow of the words in Connor’s eyes as they shift back and forth down the lines. But…it’s not normal. It’s not mundane. It’s not _everyday_ , because it isn’t every day the stranger you met at the bar on one snowy night becomes the model for the painting you haven’t been able to do for far too long.

He’s so damned mesmerizing and perplexing, and he’s sitting in Markus’ bed, wearing Markus’ sweater. The glow of the phone’s backlight on his face doesn’t even stand a chance. His light infects the rest of the room, making the bed and the sheets and even the pillows behind him seem brighter. Markus can almost see all the pastels he would throw onto a painting…watercolor, perhaps…decorating him and the room about him.

And for the first time, Markus realizes he _does_ want to draw Connor. He swallows down something like nervousness in his throat and starts sketching. Connor is so incredibly focused on reading—or maybe he’s just doing an extremely good job of posing for Markus’ sake—that he doesn’t move when the scratch of pencil on paper starts to make its sounds in the room and the smell of graphite starts to swim in the air.

One line, two lines, switch to eraser, pencil across paper again. Markus is focused, and he’s relaxed, and his breathing is normal. No anxiety, no nervousness, no fear. He’s almost got the basic outlines of Connor’s face and hair down—

“Damn it!”

He doesn’t know how it happened, but suddenly, one of the lines doesn’t make sense. Markus doesn’t remember if his fingers slipped or if he made the line without realizing it, but it’s big and much heavier than the rest of the lines. It’s a deep scar on what had initially been a beautiful image, and it spans across the middle of the page.

Connor looks up from his phone. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing—it’s okay, it’s fine.” Markus spins in his chair and grabs his eraser. Moves to clean up the line, but it won’t go away. Like it was meant to be there the entire time, it holds its spot heavy in the middle of the page, and the eraser doesn’t do anything more than smudge the lines and pepper the surface with eraser shavings.

Markus wishes he could show Carl what he had seen. The image before he had obscured it with his sketching. Now, it’s just a mess. A shell of what it could have been. Markus is stumbling. Two steps forward and three back.

_It keeps falling. Right back down to the floor, growing more and more broken each time. Markus picks it up and tries to return it back to the water, but like sand, it slips through his fingers and its body hits the floor once more with a sickening ‘flop’._

He hears the sketchbook and pencil and eraser hit the carpet before he realizes he dropped them. Connor promptly uproots himself from his spot on the bed and crawls to the foot of it, hopping off the edge.

“It’s fine, Connor. G…go back, okay?”

Connor doesn’t respond. He scoops up the pencil and eraser and offers them back to Markus, who takes them shakily.

“Connor, I’ve got it. Please, please go back to the bed. I haven’t finished yet.”

But Connor isn’t listening. He’s got the sketchpad in his hands, his gaze drawn down to the paper. His shoulders are slumped and his head dipped down as he looks at it. Markus immediately feels discomfort. He doesn’t like for others to see his work this far unfinished, much less with the giant mistake he had made across the entirety of that drawing. He’s frozen. He doesn’t know what to do.

After what feels like a solid minute, Connor rights himself and looks up at Markus. His eyes are soft and so very endless. Deep and staring right into Markus’. Those eyes are so big and so inviting, and yet, Markus can’t see what he’s trying to convey with them. It makes him more nervous. More afraid. Had he somehow insulted Connor with his work?

Markus feels the gentle weight of the sketchpad being placed back in his lap.

“What’re you so afraid of?” Connor asks him softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re shaking like you’re scared of your work, but…Markus, this is incredible.”

Markus feels his own eyes go wide. His chest clenches. What is Connor talking about? What about the…

“No…No way.” Markus is gaping down at the sketchbook in his lap. He’d been freaking out about a giant error he’d made on the work, when that big heavy line is now nowhere to be seen. Had he hallucinated making the mark? All he sees now is the way he’d managed the smooth curves of Connor’s cheeks on his drawing. The roundness of his chin and the softness of his hair. The baggy way the hoodie had sat on Connor’s shoulders. “I…there was…”

“I imagine it’s going to be a long, hard road for you, Markus,” Connor speaks up, placing a hand on the book, before he slides that hand along Markus’ leg and to his side. His fingers connect with the forearm dangling there and trace down to his wrist. “And nobody is going to rush you. Not your friends, not myself. Surely even your school understands. But you’ve got something amazing here. You’re so gifted. It’d be foolish of you to give up.”

Markus feels Connor’s fingers curling his own back around his sketchpad. He follows suit with the other hand and then moves to scoot back, sitting with his back pressed up against the foot of Markus’ bed. “We don’t have to keep going today. I don’t think we should. But I’d really like to come by again so we can try more later on down the line.”

Markus knows little to nothing about Connor. He knows his name, and that he’s intelligent beyond his years. He knows Connor likes blue Powerade. Knows he’s good at modeling. Old enough to drink. Likes to read books on his phone. He works as a pharmacy tech. But what are his aspirations? What does he _really_ want to do with his life? There’s so much power in the words he has to say, and Markus wants to hear more of them. Wants to know more about the mysterious boy sitting in his own sweater, encouraging him not to give up.

“I…yeah,” Markus manages. He hates how breathy his own voice sounds, as if he’s been searching for the right answer for far too long. “I’d like that. We’ve still got to finish _Cruel Intentions_ , after all.”

“You want to beat your sixty-watch record?” Connor laughs. “By the way, this last time doesn’t count, since you fell asleep through it.”

“Fine, whatever,” Markus smiles back down at him. “We can pick up where we left off before I fell asleep.”

“Right now?” Connor laughs and moves to stand up.

“Yeah, right now,” Markus jabs back, getting to his feet. He hesitates after. “If you don’t have anywhere to go right now, I mean.”

Connor doesn’t say anything. He just flashes Markus another little grin before he moves to get dressed. He slips his pants on and tugs off Markus’ sweater, before he shrugs his own tee shirt back on. Markus finds instantly that he misses the way the sweater had looked on him.

\--- --- --- --- ---

North and the others don’t come back until late that evening. Connor is long gone, having left after they’d finished their movie. They had spent a good half hour arguing about whether the stepsister deserved better at the end or not, and then Connor had taken one more blue Powerade for the road and left.

It’s only after Simon and Josh return with a drunken North that Markus realizes he never asked for Connor’s number. He’s got no doubt in his mind that he can get into touch with the guy somehow, but it seems kind of stupid on his part not to have taken down the number so that they can arrange another meeting.

As Simon lowers a grumpy, inebriated North down onto the couch and moves to fetch her some water, Markus thinks back to his sketchbook. He wonders if looking at it now, he’ll see the same thing that had interrupted his drawing altogether. Is that line still there? Had he even really made it? Is this how far he’s sunken into his own mind? So badly that he hallucinates mistakes that aren’t there?

“Markus!” North’s voice interrupts Markus’ thoughts, and he turns to regard her from his spot in the armchair next to the couch. She’s glaring at him. “Hey, asshole, are you listening to me! I’m trying to talk to you!”

“Sorry,” Simon apologizes for her as he offers her a glass of water. “We didn’t know how much time you would need, so we went to the bar. North, uh, saw something and it’s been messing with her ever since.”

“Bullshit, is what it is,” North groans as she sips at her water. “Who in the fuck cheats on their girlfriend publicly? She knows I go to that bar all the time!”

“Wait, what?” Markus sits bolt upright. “North…your girlfriend cheated on you?”

Simon and Josh both look like they feel the same way Markus does about it. They’re both more than a little on the angry side with the whole situation, but they’ve likely had their chance to deal with it in their own way. Be it listening to North vent or letting her scream to them about it or talking to the girl, herself. Markus hasn’t actually met this girlfriend yet, and at this point, he’s a little glad he hasn’t.

“It’s stupid,” North grunts, sitting upright on the couch. She leans forward and rests her elbows on her knees. “She’s stupid…I’m stupid for thinking she wouldn’t have done it.”

“How does that make you stupid?” Markus frowns. “You know what? Hold on a sec.” He gets up and heads to his room, shrugging on his jacket. Hastily, he grabs the sweater Connor had discarded on his bed earlier and heads back out to the living room. He tosses the sweater at her. “Let’s go talk about it, okay?”

The apartment has a balcony that can be reached by passing through the kitchen. It overlooks the rest of the complex. A twisting of sidewalks and trees between the buildings, as well as a bright blue swimming pool that’s currently locked off for the winter. It still glows year-round, though. Markus and North are both peering over at it from the balcony railing as North speaks.

“How’d the modeling thing go?” She asks, her voice dull. Markus knows she cares about it, but he also knows she’s not really in the mood to ask. That in mind, he shakes his head.

“We can talk about me later. What happened?”

North hesitates, shooting a glance at Markus, before she returns her focus to the blue pool glowing in the nighttime winter scenery. “We were really stoked about how things were gonna go for you, yeah?” She shakes her head. “Didn’t want to come home and interrupt it, since we knew you’d probably need a lot of time to get it all on paper, so we all decided to go out drinking for a bit. Guess she thought it’d be a good idea, too.”

Markus reaches out and curls an arm around her shoulders, and she leans her head against him.

“We’re having a fucking blast, Markus. Josh goes over to change the song on the jukebox when he just…freezes, you know? Simon and I notice he’s staring off in some direction, so we get up to see what’s going on.” North wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “And, well, there she is. All wrapped up in some other girl. They’re dancing all close and shit, and they’ve got their tongues down each other’s fucking throats when she notices me watching.”

“…Jesus.” Markus scowls down over the balcony at the sidewalks below. “North, I’m sorry.”

“It took both Josh and Simon to keep me from running over there and killing her. I wanted to rip her stupid, perfect hair right out of her head for thinking it was okay. I know I didn’t know her for long, but I really liked her…” She slumps over further against Markus. “Dating is stupid. I hate relationships.”

_Where are you walking, Markus? Is it toward something? Or away from something?_

Markus frowns, before he gives North’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I’m so sorry you had to find out that way. It was pretty low of her not to say anything to you before she did what she did. But you were still pretty early in that relationship, and there are better people out there. Not that you should go searching any time soon. Just enjoy your time here. With us. You know _we’re_ never gonna cheat on you. Walk away from anyone who thinks hooking up with some other girl and betraying one of the most loyal people I know is a good idea.”

North laughs tearfully and gives Markus’ shoulder a playful shove. They separate, and she flips him off. “You’re so fucking cheesy, Markus.”

“Maybe,” Markus laughs along with her, “but I got a smile out of you, so I can live with being that way.”

“Oh my god,” North stumbles backward and flops down into one of the two patio chairs on the balcony. “You might as well be Iowa, because I’m pretty sure you just sowed the whole damned cornfield at me.”

Markus raises both eyebrows. “Good burn. I’ll make sure to put some aloe on it later.”

“Fucking nerd!” North bursts out laughing again. She crosses her arms and huddles down into the sweatshirt Markus let her wear, and then hesitates. “Wait a minute…I’ve smelled this cologne before.” She sits back, thinking for a moment, and then gasps dramatically. “Oh my god…Markus Manfred, you little _player_!”

“Wait…what?” Markus frowns.

“This was all over the kid we paid to model for you! Did you guys bang it out?”

“Oh, come on.” Markus crosses his arms. “He wore it so I could draw him in it, are we done?”

“Why’d he need to wear your hoodie?” North cocks an eyebrow.

Conveniently enough, Simon chooses then to slide the balcony door open again. “Everything okay? You guys are gonna get us yelled at for noise.”

“He slept with his model!” North is laughing again.

“I did not!” Markus defends.

“Wait, how do you know?” Simon questions, glancing back and forth between his friends.

North gets to her feet and takes hold of the back of Simon’s head, jamming his face into the front of the hoodie. “Get a good whiff. Does that smell like Markus’ body spray shit to you?”

Simon backs away, both eyebrows raised now. “I mean, she makes a good point. That doesn’t smell like your spray at all.”

Markus crosses your arms. “How do you guys know I didn’t just buy a different kind?”

“Only because you’ve smelled the exact same way ever since you hit puberty,” Josh interjects from the doorway, rolling his eyes. “So, how was it?”

“It wasn’t anything,” Markus retorts around a sigh. “We were looking for ways for him to pose, and I told him to do something more comfortable, so he put on my hoodie and hopped into my bed.”

“This has ‘good porno’ written all over it,” Simon snickers, before he walks past Josh and back into the kitchen. “Maybe you’ve missed your calling, Markus. Racy sex flicks are what you should be making.”

“Screw all of you guys.” Despite those words, Markus is smiling. Simon and Josh return to the kitchen, and Markus turns to face North. She’s got her knees pulled up onto the patio chair, fiddling with the strings of the sweater that swims around her even more than it did Connor.

She turns her attention up to him and smiles, a genuine smile. “So, how’d it go?”

“The drawing?”

“Painting, I thought,” North answers, but shakes her head. “Yeah, whatever. How’d it go?”

“I sketched him,” Markus answered. “Figured I should start small and work my way up. I got a few lines in, and then…”

North leans forward, expression wracked with perplexity. “And then…?”

“I’m not sure, to be honest.” Markus crosses his arms. “I…it's like I screwed up, but when I looked at it again, I didn’t screw up. I don’t know what happened.”

“But you got something onto paper?” North looks impressed.

“I…I guess I did,” Markus realizes aloud. “That's better than I’ve done in a long time.”

North smiles softly, her focus back on the pool. Even from this distance, it casts an odd glow on her face. “’Atta boy. Keep up the good work. Glad to know our money didn’t go to waste.”

Markus raises an eyebrow. “I’m still blown away you paid a model without my permission.”

“It got you going again, didn’t it?”

“I dunno,” Markus responds with a shrug. “I hope so. When I go to paint again, we'll see.”

“Well,” North smirks, “I'll just have to get your boyfriend over here again, then.”

“We didn't have sex.”

“His cologne on your hoodie says something different,” North teases, moving to stand up. “In any case, I’m going to bed. Try and get some rest, yeah?”

Markus pauses, and then nods. “Yeah…I will. Goodnight, North.”

When the two go back inside, they find Josh and Simon watching television. North tells them both goodnight and disappears off to her room, while Markus heads for his own. He flips the light on, and his attention is immediately drawn to the sketchbook on his desk.

The sketch of Connor stares back at him. It's completely unblemished. The line Markus had seen earlier still isn’t there. How mentally screwed does he have to be to start hallucinating errors in his own work? Why is this happening? Why can’t it be easier?

Markus thinks he definitely wants to have another go at it, and when he looks up across the room at his bed, he can almost picture Connor still all propped up against his headboard on those pillows. Why hadn’t he remembered to get this guy's number? Maybe he can get it from North or Simon or Josh in the morning…

He's in the middle of stripping into his shorts when his phone buzzes. He grabs it off his desk and then climbs into bed. It’s as he notes the distinct smell of Connor's cologne on the pillows that he opens his phone.

_[Unknown]_

_11:47 PM_

_So, I may have taken the liberty of asking one of your friends for your number since neither of us thought to exchange them while I was over_

_This is Connor, by the way_

_11:48 PM_

_I'd really like to come by again. Message me back, okay?_

Markus gapes at the message for a few moments, and then gets straight to work on his own reply.

_[Markus]_

_11:49 PM_

_Sorry about that! I meant to get your number before you left. Glad you managed to get mine from someone else._

_Anyway, that sounds great. Just let me know when you’ve got free time._

Markus has his phone on his bedside table for just a handful of moments before it buzzes in response.

_[Connor]_

_11:51 PM_

_You’re the one in school. What’s your schedule like?_

Despite his promise to North that he’d get some rest, Markus texts Connor late into that night. It starts out casual enough, coming up with a time to meet up again and discussing work and school schedules, but soon enough, they’re conversing as relaxedly as if they’re sitting next to one another on the couch. Eventually, Connor just calls Markus.

_“I hate texting,”_ Connor explains over the phone, and Markus just laughs. _“I’ll do it if I have to, but if I can just talk to you, why not do that?”_

“No, it makes sense,” Markus responds with a shrug that Connor can’t see over the phone. “But on that note, if we can talk over the phone, why not just hang out?”

_“Are you inviting me over, Markus?”_

“Honestly?” Markus laughs into the receiver. “I wish. But my roommates got drunk and they’re all trying to sleep, so I’ll show pity on them.”

There’s a long pause, before Connor’s voice breaks the silence. _“You could always come see me.”_

Markus could. Somewhere along the way, things escalated beyond the relationship of model and artist, and Connor and Marks are spending time together like friends. Out of the near full day spent together, they’d used up perhaps half an hour of that time actually focusing on the task they’d originally met up for. And it’s strangely exciting.

But…

“Maybe another night, okay? I’ve got class in the morning. Besides, we’re meeting up in a couple days, right?”

_“That’s true.”_ Connor only sounds a little disappointed, but it weighs heavily on Markus’ chest anyway. _“By the way, Markus…your drawing earlier truly did look good. I was really impressed.”_

Markus swallows. “…Thanks. Bet it was kind of weird looking at someone’s drawn version of you.”

_“Not at all.”_ Connor sounds alarmingly sure of his words. _“It looked like me. You did well.”_

Markus can’t describe the relief those words bring him. He’d never fully let his inability to paint anymore weigh him down, but he’d also never been able to deny just how hard it was to get by sometimes when he thought about how weak he felt when he tried and failed. If he really was getting somewhere, he felt good about it. Inspired. Hopeful.

And it was all thanks to his roommates and Connor.

“…Connor?”

_“I was wondering if you had fallen asleep,”_ Connor replies over the phone, the soft laugh over the receiver reminding Markus of velvet against his skin. _“What is it?”_

“Are you walking toward something? Or away from something?”

Either Connor doesn’t remember having said that on the night they’d met or Markus has struck a nerve. He wonders if maybe that wasn’t a memory he’d dreamed about—if maybe it was just a very real-sounding dream.

But then, Connor speaks up again.

_“I’ll see you in a couple days, alright?”_ Maybe Markus is looking too far into the whole thing, but it sort of sounds like Connor’s voice has gotten a little solemn. Did Markus upset him? He sure hopes not. _“Goodnight, Markus.”_

The call ends, and Markus is left staring at his phone for a solid handful of seconds. He releases a sigh and plugs his phone in, before he lets it rest on the end table once more.

Sleep comes surprisingly easily after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all are still enjoying this work, because I sure am enjoying writing it!
> 
> As always, all your comments are loved and appreciated and quite honestly keep me going. Thanks so much for the kudos and bookmarks and reviews! <3 If you ever want to message me, my tumblr is connorsmarkus. I'm always open to requests or just general chatter!


	3. Metronome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song I envisioned Markus playing in this sequence is Nuvole bianche by Ludovico Einaudi: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4VR-6AS0-l4

_Carl plays in a way that Markus can feel it in his bones. He doesn’t just read sheet music and follow rules written on paper. If Markus thinks hard enough, he can picture his father swaying to the beat, no matter how intense and fast-paced or slow and sweet it is. He takes the lead, lets his fingers glide across the keys, doesn’t let the rules printed on paper control him. Each note, each gentle slide from measure to measure, it’s all his own. A famous song becomes Carl Manfred’s own without fail, every single time._

_Even now that Carl can’t use his legs, Markus can feel his songs. He notices the subtle differences in the lack of usage of pedals, but somehow, Carl always seems to make up for it. It’s not the same, but it’s still Carl’s own, and Markus adores it as a result._

_While ordinary music lulls children and babies to sleep, Carl’s playing has always roused Markus in the morning. He’s always been pulled into consciousness by the beams of sunlight casting glares in his room, and then guided gently into the world of the living by the tempo of the music. When Carl isn’t painting, he’s playing or reading, and Markus cherishes the mornings when he’s playing._

_At nineteen, Markus still finds himself spending a night with his father every couple of weeks. He still sleeps in his own room, with all the posters he’d adorned his walls with throughout his growing-up years and the smell of paints dried onto canvases he’d finished over time. Paintings of sunsets and of mountains and thunderstorms. The way his hand had looked on the window of a school bus back in freshman year of high school during a field trip._

_He’s guided into consciousness this particular morning by his father’s playing, and it draws a smile onto his lips. Sometimes, it’s disappointing to wake up in his apartment without that music, so he almost instantly feels more rested when he hears Carl playing. He gets to his feet and follows the current of the notes as he heads into the restroom to shower and brush his teeth. When he emerges, his father is still playing._

_For a sick old man losing the ability to use his muscles, Carl sure can endure a pleasantly long piano session. Not that Markus minds. It means he has that much longer with his father._

_Once dressed, he descends the stairs and pivots around the frame onto the gleaming concrete floor. He emerges into the living room, absorbing the many odds and ends Carl has adorning his living room. He’s added a few things since the last time Markus visited. Oddly, this draws a smile to his lips._

_He glides over to the piano, stopping once he’s standing next to Carl, who turns his head up and regards him with a soft smile._

_“Good morning, Dad,” Markus greets, his hands tucked into his pockets, as he watches his father play. Carl’s fingers haven’t stopped moving even for a second._

_“Markus,” Carl acknowledges warmly. “How did you sleep?”_

_Markus laughs softly. “Like a bump on a log. How long have you been up?”_

_“Ever since the Home Health aide came in and bothered me into consciousness,” Carl’s voice is gruff, but also affectionate. Markus knows his father appreciates all the help he can get. Now that Markus isn’t living in the home and caring for him as much as he used to be able to, he has to rely more on the aides and nurses visiting his home than ever. “But that Tanja sure does make a mean omelet.”_

_He lifts his fingers from the keys there and moves to rest his hands in his lap. Soft eyes lock onto Markus’ own blue and green ones._

_“How long has it been since you played, Markus?”_

_“I dunno,” Markus shrugs, “a few days, maybe?” He relies on the piano on campus for his music when he’s not at his father’s house. There was no way he was damaging a piano trying to fit it into the tiny doors of the apartment he and his roommates are staying in. But that’s okay. It’s just another excuse for him to come and visit his father._

_“Well?” Carl backs his wheelchair away from the piano and nods to the giant instrument. “Let’s hear it.”_

_Mismatched eyes glance between his father and the piano, before Markus shrugs and moves the piano seat back toward the machine. That’s what it is, because how else do you describe something so incredible that it operates simply on the pushing of keys and depressing of pedals? Markus has always been intrigued by it. He’s almost as passionate about it as he is the art he paints nearly every day._

_He adjusts the seat a little and inhales slowly. Lets his hands fall to rest over the keys, a tune already in mind._

_And just like his father, he lets his body guide him into song. It starts out slow and sweet and a little melancholy. Markus knows the song like the back of his hand. It’s one his father started playing to wake him when he was roughly sixteen years old. One he had begged Carl to teach him. One he had mastered within a month. His favorite._

_The introduction makes him think of the smell of coffee in the morning, and of the hazy glow of the sunlight peering into his room as he awakens. It makes him think of walking into the living room and greeting his roommates with a smile. Of the drawl of his professors as they display notes on power points and read them word for word while clicking through them. Of the gentle hum of cars driving down the street as Markus walks to school._

_And then it picks up in pace, and Markus can feel his life rushing around him. The fish in his aquarium darting to avoid stray bubbles from the machine keeping its home clean. The race he and North and Josh have when they sprint down the track. Swinging hard against the punching bag at the gym. The determination he feels when he buckles down and studies hard or forces himself to manage just one more pull-up on the bar at the gym._

_His fingers dance effortlessly along the keys as he plays out the excitement he feels when he presents a finished art project or wins an arm-wrestling match against one of his friends. When they’re all cheering excitedly at the screen after beating a new level on one of the many games they’ve played together._

_The music slows down again, and Markus thinks of all the times he’s painted with his father watching him from not far away, or when he watches Carl work on his own art and the level of calm focus he puts into it. The way his eyes seem everywhere and nowhere all at the same time._

_And Markus keeps playing. His heart falls out into every note, like it always does when he comes over and plays. Almost like a recap of everything that’s happened during his absence. He’s at peace the entire time, because he knows he has it down to a science. Because he knows his father knows exactly what he's trying to convey._

_When he finishes, he doesn’t look up right away. It’s a habit for Markus to close his eyes and take a deep breath. To compose himself before he gauges the world around him. And when his eyes finally open and he turns to regard his father, Carl is just sitting there, smiling, with glistening tears coursing down his cheeks._

_“It’s always that song, isn’t it?” Carl asks, and Markus feels his heart swell at the amount of pride he hears in his father’s voice. “That’s the one you always play for me.”_

_“I can’t help it,” Markus answers softly. His hands are shaking, but he tries not to let it show. “It’s a personal favorite.”_

_“I can tell.” Carl wheels closer and reaches out to close a hand over his son’s shoulder. “Markus, do you remember why I adopted you?”_

_Of course he does. Markus has heard this story a thousand times. He’d asked Carl that very question not a year into living in the Manfred home. And Carl had, in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood, said:_

_“Because I wanted to be the dad of the kid with the cool eyes,” Markus quotes back without missing a beat._

_“That’s what I said,” Carl responds with a soft chuckle. “That’s the only thing I could imagine a seven-year-old boy would take positively in response to such a deep question. Looking back, I’m sure I could have quoted the entire World Encyclopedia and you’d have absorbed it just as well.” Carl looks up and turns his gaze to the living room window, squinting into the light pouring inside from it._

_“No,” he continues, “it’s more like I saw that boy at the park with all the other kids in his foster group, and while they played, he ran circles with a little girl. Moved in such a way that she almost followed him like he were a snake charmer. He took curves in rhythm. Led her along at his own pace. Let his heart guide him. And I thought, ‘…what could I learn from this boy?’ He had so much heart. Every move he made oozed wisdom and observance. He was more aware of the world at seven years old than most grown men.”_

_Markus glances down in his lap. He knows that at the time, Leo hadn’t been in Carl’s custody. He’d still been with his mother. When Markus was seven years old, Carl was living by himself, painting by himself, dreaming by himself. Considering how much Markus loves to share his work with those around him, he can only imagine how lonely an existence like that must have been._

_But Carl’s still smiling. He shakes his head, wiping tears from his eyes. “I didn’t adopt you, Markus. At this point in my long life, I’m certain it was the other way around.”_

_From the floor above, Markus hears a noise. Like water swishing._

_“Did you hear—”_

_When he turns around, Carl isn’t there any longer. The noise grows louder, evolving into a dull roar._

_“Dad…?” Markus stands up, and the stool behind him tips and clunks to the ground. Markus notices that the colors are fading from the room around him. Vibrant hues cast by sunlight and the many different colors Carl keeps in his living room are quickly draining out into grayscale. The roar becomes deafening and Markus realizes it’s not going to stop unless he puts an end to it._

_He sprints frantically up the stairs. The music doesn’t guide him along anymore. His feet drum on the floor like fingers hammering carelessly and arrhythmically on piano keys. He swears the stairs are collapsing and falling to the ground after his feet depart each one. He runs up the stairs as quickly as he can manage and whirls around the corner, toward his room._

_There’s no more sunlight. The gleaming yellows and whites and oranges cast by the world outside are now just as gray as the rest of the house. Markus wheels around desperately, his eyes growing wide, and then the source of the roar hits him dead-on. A wave smacks him hard in the face and sends him reeling. He tumbles beneath the water, caught up in the swirling current. Around him, all his paintings are sucked into the undertow with him. His posters, his childhood, his fish. The guitar he’d tried learning but never got past the most basic of chords. His life, being tossed around with him._

_The wave sucks him out of the room and over the balcony to the floor beneath. Markus’ back hits the ground hard and the wind is knocked from his lungs. The water surrounds him again, and he realizes he’s drowning. His chest hurts, and he can almost feel the oxygen separating from his bloodstream altogether. He stretches a hand out urgently in front of him, but his arm goes limp._

_And then the water is gone. Markus gasps for air, his eyes wide and focused on the ceiling over him. Everything is still in grayscale. His clothes are soaked and he feels cold. His back hurts from his fall._

_With some effort, he turns onto his side, and that’s when he sees it._

_The fish. Still in perfect color, glowing in all its blues and yellows and greens. It flops helplessly on the living room floor, its mouth opening and closing repeatedly, gills desperately seeking out some source of water._

_Markus has to get it back to safety. He reaches out, but he’s gripped by a sharp pain._

_“…Damn it…!” He turns onto his stomach and tries to push himself to his knees, but the pain shoots through his shoulder and back. He’s shaking and he’s hurting and no matter how much he tries, he can’t get upright._

_And the fish next to him is still dying._

\--- --- --- --- ---

Markus awakens with a sharp gasp, sitting bolt upright in his bed. He’s panting as he raises a hand to his chest and closes it around the tank top he’s wearing. He’s sweating.

Jesus…what kind of nightmare…

The sound of knocking at his front door pulls him out of his panic. A glance at his phone tells him it’s nearing three o’clock in the morning. Who in the hell would be out this late? When he went to bed earlier, North, Simon, and Josh were all at home, so there’s no telling who’s banging on their door at this hour. For a split second, Markus entertains the thought of just ignoring the sound in hopes that whoever is knocking will give up and go somewhere else, but something in him tells him he needs to get up and answer it.

He hears the door open halfway out of his bedroom and finds Josh standing at the door, holding it open. Josh steps aside, rubbing his eyes, and groans aloud.

“Simon!” He roars in sleepy frustration. “Get your ass up, your brother’s here!”

Markus has met Daniel quite a few times in his friendship with Simon. Daniel is older than Simon by about six minutes, though Simon is often the more level-headed of the two. He’s a nice kid, though. Markus has drank with him a couple of times and he’s pretty fun to have around. But at three in the morning, the sight of his drunk ass has even Markus irritated.

Simon ambles out of the room in just his flannel pajama pants. He winces against the cold and snatches up a throw blanket from the armchair as he approaches his brother. “Josh, shut the damn door,” he grumbles to his friend, before turning his focus to his brother. “Daniel, what the fuck?”

“Sorry,” Daniel grunts, shuffling his way inside. He reeks of booze, but he’s not stumbling around like he’s about to pass out or anything. If anything, Markus would guess that he’s in the process of sobering up. Josh leads him toward the couch and makes to fix him some water. “Been out looking for my roommate for the past couple of hours, and he’s not answering his phone.”

“Your roommate? Connor, right?” Simon questions.

“Connor?” Markus frowns. He’s quick to deduce that his friends had met Connor through Simon’s brother, but he doesn’t focus on it much. Connor’s apparently missing, which is a little more important.

“Yeah, your model,” Daniel responds with a shrug. “That’s why I came here. None of you assholes were answering your phones, either.”

“Probably because it’s fucking three in the morning,” North groans behind them as she too emerges from her room.

“Not the point,” Daniel snaps back. “We gotta find Connor. I thought he might be here, but going by the deer-in-the-headlights looks you all are giving me, that’s not the case.”

Simon glances about the room and then shakes his head. He turns his focus to Markus. “You have his number, right? When’s the last time he texted you?”

“We spoke on the phone a day and a half ago,” Markus answers. “Haven’t heard from him since. He was supposed to come by tomorrow to continue our session.”

“Yeah, well,” Daniel sighs, scratching at the back of his neck, “we gotta find his ass or he’s not gonna be around for any sessions you two might have.”

Markus agrees wholeheartedly, which is why he heads straight to his room and slips on jeans and a sweater, followed by his jacket. He grabs the hoodie he’d lent to North just in case, and walks briskly out of the room. By the time he emerges, Simon and Josh are dressed and North is shrugging into her own hoodie. Daniel’s standing in front of the couch, smiling despite his exasperation.

“Thanks, guys. Sorry to get you wound up in his bullshit.”

“His bullshit?” Josh repeats curiously. “You say that like he’s done this before.”

“He has,” Daniel answers with a shrug. “He does this shit all the time. We’ll go to the bar and he’ll have a good old time, get a little buzzed, and shimmy off somewhere. Usually, I find him at the same one or two places. This time, he’s off somewhere else.”

“Maybe he hasn’t made it to one of those places yet?” Simon wonders aloud.

“Maybe,” Daniel agrees. “Just means we’re splitting up and some of us are going to those places while the others search somewhere else.”

“Why not just call the cops?” Josh questions. “He could be in real danger.”

“I did,” Daniel sighs, “and they’re already looking. Connor’s gonna kill me for it, but that’s what he gets for wandering off. Goddamn it, why’s he gotta do this shit all the time?”

“He’s _your_ friend,” Simon reminds him. “Ask him that, yourself. Anyway, let’s go.”

\--- --- --- --- ---

In the end, Markus heads for a park Daniel suggested Connor might be at, while Josh and North go for the shipyard. Daniel and Simon decide to search a couple of other places Daniel has in mind.

Markus’ mind is racing a million miles an hour while he drives down the empty streets of the city. He’s already learned that Connor is much more than just a little unpredictable, but this is on a whole different level. He finds himself wondering what triggers Connor’s decision to just up and leave like that. Why isn’t he answering his phone? Without thinking, Markus unlocks his own phone and pulls up Connor’s number.

As it rings, he wonders if Connor still remembers what he asked him. He can’t help but try and connect that to what’s going on tonight. Are the two related? Did Markus ask him something too personal? If that’s the case, why had Connor asked him that question at the bar?

To his surprise, Connor picks up.

“ _Markus?_ ”

“Jesus, Connor,” Markus responds, his words coming out in a sigh of relief, “do you know your roommate’s worried sick about you?”

“ _Is he? He’s probably just upset that I left again._ ”

“Don’t be stupid,” Markus snaps, perhaps a little irritably. “He came to my apartment to talk all of us here into helping find you! What the hell are you thinking?”

“ _I just needed some air,_ ” Connor answers calmly. Markus appreciates that he doesn’t seem to be taking offense. “ _I’m at the studio. Tell him that, he’ll know where to go._ ”

“He’s not with me right now,” Markus replies. “We split up to try and find you. You know he called the police?”

Connor sighs over the phone. “ _I’m not surprised._ ”

“Can you blame him?” Markus questions as he comes to a red light. “Anyway, where's the studio? I’ll come get you.”

When the call ends, Markus calls Daniel up and halts the search before it gets out of hand. Daniel suggests they meet back at the apartment and hangs up the phone.

Markus doesn’t drive much. With his school and the grocery store within walking distance, he usually only gets into his car if he's going out or needs to run a special errand. He used to do those for Carl all the time. To pick up paints or take him to the doctor. Now that he's gone, it feels strange to be in this car. It's going to feel strange to have Connor riding in the passenger's seat.

The aforementioned studio looks run-down on the outside. The door is boarded up, and the sign advertising dance classes looks like it hasn’t been maintained in a decade. Markus sees Connor sitting outside of it on a bench, all wrapped up in his long coat, a coffee cup in hand. He sips away at it as Markus parks the car and gets out, striding over. He leaves the engine running for now, and moves to take a seat on the bench next to Connor.

“I’m sorry for worrying you guys,” Connor answers quickly as he blows some steam off of the little hole in the coffee cup lid and takes another sip. “That bar just gets so loud and I need some space.”

Markus frowns. “DetrOit?”

“Yeah.” Connor shrugs. “Daniel and I live in an apartment two floors above it. I go in there because the bouncer never charges me since he knows I live there. I like going, but sometimes it's overwhelming. Remember how quickly you and I stole away on that night?” Connor smiles wryly. “That's something of a habit for me. It just so happens I went with you instead of alone that night.”

Markus has to mentally remind himself that he hasn’t known Connor for long. His gut reaction is to tell the other man that he can come and hang out at his place if he wants, because it truly does feel like they’ve been friends for a very long time. Like old souls.

“That's dangerous, you know.” Markus sighs. “Plus, it's the dead of winter. You’re going to catch cold.”

“I’m an adult, Markus,” Connor replies defiantly, though not irritably. “I can take care of myself.”

Markus frowns, and then leans back. “That's true, I’m sorry. But at least answer the phone for Daniel next time, okay? He probably wouldn’t have gotten so out of hand if he had at least known where you are.”

“…Yeah, okay.” Connor stands up. “Anyway, where are we going?”

“My place,” Markus answers as he follows suit. “Daniel said it would be quieter.”

Connor laughs. “Daniel's right. The club is likely only just now letting people out.” He turns to face the store window behind him. “Can I show you something first, though?”

Markus hesitates, but nods slowly. “Show me what?” he should probably insist that he and Connor go back home, that they should be sleeping, but he realizes that he's curious. Everything about Connor oozes so much mystery that he can't help but wonder. Connor is a mystery in himself. That’s part of what makes him so compelling. Part of why Markus has trouble not thinking about him.

As the snow starts to fall again, Connor moves to stand directly in front of the studio window. He takes a fresh sip of coffee, and then breathes the steam onto the glass. Using his coat sleeve, he wipes away caked on ice and dust until he's got a roughly two-foot view into the studio. He waves for Markus to join him.

“If I think hard enough,” Connor tells him as he steps aside and lets Markus peer into the window, “I can still hear my instructor counting in time with the metronome.”

“You were in dance classes?” Markus asks him as he looks about the room. In the limited view he has, he can see the heavily-waxed dance floor, a rail across the very end, and a scattering of shoes and dresses and uniforms alike. An old CD player rests in the only corner Markus can see.

Connor doesn’t respond, but Markus figures the answer is obvious enough. Instead, Connor slumps against the dusty window and looks at Markus from his spot all propped up on it. His hair is mussed up against it, one cheek pressed to the cold glass. He doesn’t seem to mind the temperature difference, though.

“I hate that rhythm,” Connor says almost bitterly. “If there's somewhere I’m running away from, it's that sound.”

Connor doesn’t seem keen on elaborating. Instead, he pushes away from the window and takes another drink of his coffee. “I’m sorry I hung up on you the other night.”

Markus realizes that, in his own roundabout way, Connor is trying to explain why he had so hastily ended their call from the other night. He finds himself smiling at that thought. “It's okay. I shouldn’t have asked you something like that.”

“Maybe,” Connor shrugs, “but that's alright. I asked you first, after all.” He glances down at his coffee and then extends it out to Markus. “You look cold.”

Markus shakes his head. “I’m fine. Let's just get home, okay?”

\--- --- --- --- ---

When they reach the complex, Markus sees a police car parked in the parking lot. He figures he shouldn’t be concerned since Connor is right here with him, but he is. It's not every day you have a cop at your apartment complex at four thirty in the morning. There doesn’t seem to be anyone else around, so Markus figures it’s got something to do with what happened.

Sure enough, Markus enters to find a man in uniform sipping away at one of his blue Powerades. He looks to be in his early to mid-fifties, with shaggy gray hair that covers the sides of his face and reaches almost to his chin. His eyes are big and blue, and his frame is somehow tall and stocky at the same time. On his uniform shirt, the nametag displays the name ‘Anderson'. His expression is the example of impatience, and it grows even more so when he lands eyes on Connor.

“You again,” he grunts irritably. “I should’ve asked your name when they radioed in. Jesus, I gotta stop covering Chris' overnights so much.”

A glance in Connor's direction tells Markus that he isn’t any happier to see this Officer Anderson than said officer is to see him. They’re both glaring daggers at one another. Connor looks more fierce and angry than Markus has ever seen him.

“If you knew it was me, you should also know I was _fine_ ,” Connor snaps back. “I like walks. I’m a grown man, I should be allowed to go on them.”

Anderson takes a big swig of his drink, as if the blue liquid is pushing all the anger he wants to regurgitate right back down his esophagus. Afterward, he plunks it down on the counter next to him. “You're legally an adult, yeah, but you’ve got the mentality of a kid half your age. Get the fuck outta fantasy land before you get yourself killed!”

“I’m not in fantasy land,” Connor snarls back. “I just need space from time to time.”

“Then answer your goddamn phone next time,” the officer retorts, “so I don’t have to hear that _this guy_ ,” he motions to Daniel, “called again because he’s worried about his friend! It isn’t always about you, Connor.”

The room falls silent there, and in glancing about the area, Markus realizes he isn’t the only one surprised by the display that just took place. Even Daniel seems to be taken aback.

“You, uh,” North questions, arms crossed over her chest, from her spot on one end of the couch, “you two have some sort of history?”

“You could say that.” By now, Connor has calmed down completely. He doesn’t look half as irritated as he did even when he and Markus first laid eyes on the police officer in the living room. He releases a sigh and turns his attention to Anderson. “Look, Hank, I’m sorry. I’ll make sure everyone knows where I am next time, okay?”

The aforementioned Hank finishes his drink and moves into the kitchen to dispose of the bottle. “That’s all I wanted to hear, kiddo. But you should also watch your back when you go out late. Do that for me, will you?”

Connor shrugs as the officer starts toward the front door. “Yeah, okay.”

Hank turns his attention to everyone else in the room, eyebrows raised. “Thanks for helping find him. Here’s to hoping I don’t see any of your faces again.” With that, he leaves the room, shutting the door behind him. As the door swings shut, Markus hears the balcony door slide open. He casts a glance toward the kitchen, where he sees Connor step out into the cold once again.

He turns to face Daniel. “You have any idea what just happened?”

Daniel shrugs. “Sounds to me like a cop who somehow always gets sent out after Connor is tired of having to look for him.”

“…Do you think he’s alright?” Markus wonders aloud, and Daniel rolls his eyes.

“I dunno. Go ask him for yourself.”

Markus frowns, but decides he’s going to do just that. He passes through the kitchen and steps out, sliding the balcony door shut behind him. Instantly, the winter breeze brushes across his face, and he winces visibly.

“The weather sure is strange this year,” Markus wonders aloud, trying to break the ice. “It’s the dead of winter, and yet it was pouring down rain last week.” He thinks back to that day, when he had tried to paint in the art room on campus.

Connor steps back and leans against the glass door. He frowns, but doesn’t make eye contact. “…Markus, it hasn’t rained since maybe September.”

…Wait, that can’t be right. Markus is sure it had rained on that day. He had wanted to paint it because of the way it had looked on the window. He had felt inspired by it, so much that he’d literally ran to the art room to get started on it. The power had gone out when it had started storming. Simon had been there. Surely, Simon remembers too…

Come to think of it, Markus hadn’t even observed the weather as weird that day. He hadn’t thought anything of it, other than that he’d wanted to try and break through his slump with it. And he’s pretty sure he’d imagined the line across the sketch he’d drawn of Connor, too.

Is he losing his mind? Has he been hallucinating? What else in his life isn’t real?

“Markus?”

Acknowledging Connor’s voice, Markus turns his head to regard his new friend. Said new friend is frowning, his eyebrows turned up in concern. He doesn’t say it, but Markus can see the worry in his expression.

“I’m alright, Connor.” Markus smiles and scoots back to lean against the glass next to him. “How do you and Officer Anderson know each other?”

Connor shrugs. He tucks his hand into his pocket and withdraws a silver coin from it. A quarter, Markus notices, when Connor flips it into the air and catches it. “You heard him. He’s usually the one that gets stuck searching for me when Daniel calls freaking out.”

For a few long moments, neither of them speak. Connor flips the coin into the air, and then back and forth from hand to hand. Markus notices that the coin shifts from right to left hand in perfect rhythm, with perfect timing, and going by the way Connor is staring calmly straight ahead, without any legitimate effort or concentration. Markus finds himself lost in the beat cast by the ‘ching’ noise the coin makes every time Connor flips it, before he finally speaks up.

“What came before that?”

Connor’s still got his attention focused forward, and the coin never stops moving. Markus watches Connor roll it between his fingers, before he resumes flicking it up into the air. Like it’s second nature. A habit.

“My mom called him all the time,” Connor finally replies as he catches the coin in his hand and tucks it back into his pocket. “When I first moved to Detroit for college, she’d go crazy if I didn’t answer her texts or calls within a handful of minutes. She didn’t even bother using the actual line—she just called him on his cell, no matter how many times he told her how annoying it was. He’d usually find me at my dormitory, studying. Mom always thought I was out going to parties.”

Markus doesn’t have the heart to ask, but he gets the feeling that Connor doesn’t speak to his mother much anymore. He talks about her in the past tense, as if she’s stopped calling altogether. Or maybe she’d passed away. He doesn’t know for certain, but he keeps that particular bout of curiosity to himself.

“Did you?” Markus decides to ask instead. “Go to parties like she thought?”

Connor smiles, and it’s that familiar playful one Markus has grown so accustomed to seeing. He’s relieved when he sees it. Feels like it belongs on Connor’s lips. “One. I was so angry with her and with Hank that I went to one out of spite. Daniel and I were coworkers at the time, and he invited me. I did everything that night. Got drunk, high, lost my mind. Got one little taste of freedom and dropped out of school the very next day.”

Markus becomes aware of just how different he and Connor are. Markus, the free spirit who had been raised under the mentality that he needed to embrace everything that represented who he was, and Connor, who hadn’t even been trusted to be away from his phone for five minutes. No wonder being approached by a police officer for seeking out his own personal space had bothered him so much.

But right now, he looks as free as he deserves to be. He’s got a relaxed smile on his face and he stands with the door for support as he takes in the sight of the apartment complex around him. The blue light from the pool somehow carries all the way to his face, painting pastels on his already pale complexion. If not for the fact that it was coming up on five in the morning, Markus would jump on the chance to try and draw him again.

Instead, he catches himself trying to memorize that face. All those soft, smooth details. The pale cheeks dusted scarcely with a stray freckle here and there. The eyes that Markus can’t ever seem to stop staring at. The way Connor buries himself in the long coat he’s wearing. How the snow starts to gather in his hair. The little pink flush on his cheeks and nose induced by the cold. Markus wonders if his cheeks would be cold to the touch against his fingertips. Swallows down the urge to reach out and see for himself.

“Can I sleep here?” Connor suddenly asks, turning to regard Markus. He’s as calm as ever. “I was supposed to model for you in the morning. It’d just be easier for me to already be here, wouldn’t it?”

Markus hesitates only briefly. “Sure. You can have my bed.”

“That’s stupid,” Connor laughs, “I can sleep on the couch.”

“You’re the model,” Markus reminds almost playfully. He finds himself smiling without even trying. “Don’t you think you’re going to want to rest comfortably before you have to sit in the same spot for me for who knows how long?”

“Last time wasn’t even half an hour,” Connor reminds him.

Markus takes a deep breath. “This isn’t going to be like last time.” That’s right. He’s not going to lose touch with reality again. He’s going to stay focused, and damn it, he’s going to get something sketched out, and then he’s going to _paint_ it.

“Come to think of it,” Connor folds his hands behind his back and steps away from the glass. He straightens his back, and Markus takes note of the way the wind chooses that moment to take hold of his hair and his clothes and send them dancing under its influence. Connor smiles to the tune cast by the breeze. “We never discussed payment this time around.”

Oh, right. Markus had completely forgotten about that. In all actuality, that had been pretty inconsiderate of him, hadn’t it? It was just that he’d started seeing what they were doing as something more friendly than that of a business transaction—

“I’m joking, Markus.” Connor takes hold of Markus’ shoulder and gently urges him away from the door. “Let’s go inside.”

By now, Simon and Josh have gone off to bed. North waits on the armchair while Daniel is already passed out on the couch with the throw blanket over his shoulders. Connor and Markus turn their attention to North, who just shrugs.

“Now you definitely aren’t giving up your bed,” Connor tells Markus firmly.

North scoffs lightly. “Please. He’s gonna anyway, Connor. Learn that real fast, okay? Besides, my bed’s big enough for the both of us.”

Markus shrugs. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s shared a bed with one of his friends, let alone North. They’re close enough that there’s nothing weird about it. Markus and North have spent hours discussing how stupidly obsessed with the concept of how a boy and a girl can’t be friends without everyone thinking they’re dating people are. They’re basically siblings, anyway.

Connor, however, doesn’t know any of that, so he looks visibly surprised. “…Are you two…?”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” North shakes her head. “I don’t swing that way, so don’t worry. But Markus will sooner sleep on the floor than not be the token good host and give up his own bed, so you’re better off taking the offer than arguing with him.”

“It’s true,” Markus insists politely.

Connor doesn’t seem keen on arguing. He _does_ look a little tired, come to think of it. Markus watches his gaze drop down to somewhere in front of him, though Markus isn’t sure exactly what he’s looking at. Either way, he’s smiling.

“Thanks for letting me stay over, you guys,” he finally says. “And sorry I had you out this late at night.”

North waves him off. “Make it up to us tomorrow with food. We all like food.”

Connor glances up at her and his smile widens. “Deal. Goodnight, you two.”

Markus and North watch Connor turn and start into Markus’ bedroom. Predictably, the very instant the door shuts behind him, North elbows Markus gently in the side. He glances down at her to see her wearing that shit-eating grin she usually sports when she’s being playful.

“You could just share the bed with him, you know.”

“You’re still on that?” Markus laughs and rolls his eyes, before he turns to head for North’s bedroom. “It’s not like that.”

“ _It’s not like that,_ ” North mocks. As she shuts the door behind them, she adds in, “You’re so full of shit, Markus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for giving this a read, guys. Your comments and kudos keep me going! I'm always open to feedback. Let me know what you think! <3


	4. Metronome Part II

Late that morning, Markus fully recalls why he doesn’t make a habit of sharing a bed with North.

She’s a relentless, uncompromising _bed hog._

Despite having gone to sleep well after five in the morning, Markus is already awake, and it’s simply because of the fact that it's ergonomically impossible to sleep diagonally across North's bed with his head hanging over the edge. He's tried to move her, but she just shoves him away. Markus just takes it as his cue to be the early bird this morning and get up before everyone else.

Not that he has much of morning left. It's eleven-forty already.

Markus isn’t surprised when he emerges from North's room and sees that all the other residents of the apartment are still fast asleep. Simon and Josh have their doors closed and Daniel snores away on the couch.

Markus notices his own bedroom door is open, though. He doesn’t hear Connor moving about the house, but if there’s a chance he’s awake, Markus has someone to waste away the time with while he gives everyone else their zees.

He peers through the crack in the door, but he can’t see much of anything. The positioning of his bed inside his room in reference to the door just barely gives him the ability to see a corner of the foot of the bed with the few inches the door is cracked. Trying to not to make too much noise, he gently urges the door open and tiptoes into the room.

Connor is fast asleep on his right side in only his boxers and T-shirt, just barely curled in on himself. His soft brown hair is splayed out all across Markus' sheets, any hope of a pillow abandoned off to the side of the bed. He doesn’t seem to mind, though. He's as peaceful as ever.

But the most surprising thing, perhaps, is the book resting under his left hand. Markus recognizes the sketchbook from his childhood, and also notes that the book is open to the picture of Josh and North brawling. Markus smiles fondly at the image as he gently slides the sketchbook out from under Connor's hand. He resists the temptation to reach back down and run his fingers through Connor's hair.

It's so very forward of Markus to think, but he finds himself making the observation that Connor sleeps in his bed like he belongs in it.

“Nosy little bastard…” Markus whispers under his breath, still smiling, as he heads into his bathroom to shower.

Today, he's going to move forward. Even if it's just a couple of lines, Markus is going to get something onto that sketchbook. Maybe he'll fill out Connor's form tucked back against those pillows. Get the outline of the bed. Shade in some of how he wants the lights and shadows to play on Connor's delicate face.

He wants to make something worth the money his friends gave Connor. Something his father would look at and smile warmly. Something Connor could be glad he modeled for. Like he's learning how to paint all over again, he just wants to make those around him proud.

The hot water feels good on Markus' skin. Soothing. Refreshing. After all that had happened, Markus had nearly forgotten about the nightmare he had had before he had gone out searching for Connor. It had been so sweet at first, and while it had only been a memory, Markus had cherished the ability to see his father's face again. He didn’t imagine he was ever going to stop missing Carl Manfred.

But a memory had turned into a nightmare. That same recurring nightmare. Sometimes, it takes the simple form of that fish hopping out of its aquarium and Markus struggling unendingly to return it back to its home. But other times, like last night, it takes more vivid and intense forms. The pain of his back hitting that floor…it had felt so real. But when Markus rolls his shoulders now, he feels nothing.

What does it all mean? Why won't it go away?

The water runs cold before Markus is ready to step out. He dries off and throws a towel around his waist, then brushes his teeth. He opens the door slowly, so as not to wake Connor, but freezes when he sees the aforementioned Connor sitting at the edge of his bed, in that same rigid pose as he had been on the couch the day of the first session.

“Thank god,” Connor exhales quickly, standing up. “I really have to pee.”

Markus steps out of the way. “…There's another bathroom in the hallway, you know.”

“I didn’t want to wake anyone up,” Connor responds as he shuts the door behind him. Markus makes quick work of slipping into his underwear and a pair of dark gray jeans. By the time Connor emerges from the bathroom, Markus is fishing around in his closet for a shirt.

“Can I use your shower?” Connor asks as Markus retrieves a long-sleeved white undershirt and a pale blue sweater.

“Sure,” Markus replies around a shrug as he tugs his shirts on, “but you’re going to have to give it a second. The water's got to heat back up.”

Connor mirrors his shrug. “Fine by me. I just want to use your soap.”

Markus doesn’t realize he's staring at Connor until the smaller man curls his lips upward into an impish grin.

“I know North thinks we're sleeping with each other,” he explains. “I just want to give her a reason to keep thinking that. You know, stir the pot a little.” As he speaks, Connor smiles impishly.

Markus honestly can’t decide just what kind of person Connor is. He’s easygoing and polite most times, but then he does things like this. How is a failing artist like Markus supposed to keep up with such energy?

After Connor showers, Markus gives him an unopened toothbrush and lets him finish up. Surprisingly, everyone else is still asleep, so the two decide to go out for coffee before starting their session. Connor is all bundled up in that coat again, one hand in his pocket and the other clutching his drink. He sports a stocking cap Markus lent him, but he still somehow looks as soft as ever. His cheeks and nose are pink from the winter chill.

Markus has the hood of his own coat pulled over his head. Connor reaches out and yanks it down so that it pools around his shoulders.

“I can't see your face with it up,” he clarifies.

“Then give me my stocking cap back,” Markus replies with raised eyebrows.

“Absolutely not,” Connor deadpans, his gaze focused ahead of him. “in fact, I may or may not be tempted to keep it from here on out.”

“Do you not have your own?” Markus frowns.

“I have plenty. It just so happens that I want this one, too.”

And then Connor does something that blows any retort Markus may or may not have had clean from his mind. He _winks_. It's such a gentle gesture, but it hits so fiercely that Markus swears the air has actually disappeared from his lungs. And either Connor doesn’t notice or is pretending not to care, because he keeps on going as if it's nothing. He raises his coffee to his lips and blows away the steam before taking another drink.

“So, Markus Manfred,” he starts placidly, gaze fixed ahead of him, “I really don’t know much about you. Tell me about yourself.”

Markus wonders how much they’d actually talked about at the bar on that first night. He remembers giving out his name, stating that he had a headache, and discussing life philosophically after mentioning why his friends had dragged him out in the first place. But what exactly does Connor want to know?

“Like what?” he wonders aloud.

Connor ‘hmms' thoughtfully over the lid of his coffee cup. “Like your hobbies. I know you want to paint as a career, but aside from playing videogames and watching questionable sex dramas from the nineties, what does Markus Manfred enjoy to do with his spare time? Judging by what I saw when you stepped out of the bathroom, working out has to be one of them.”

“Was that supposed to be a compliment?” Markus scoffs.

“More like an observation,” Connor tells him. “But take it as one if you want.”

“I like working out, yeah,” Markus responds. “I don't do it as often as I used to, but Josh and North and I used to go to the gym a lot.”

“What about Simon?”

“He hates the gym,” Markus explains. “He practices at the tennis courts instead. Doesn’t want to pay a membership.”

“Daniel did say something about him playing tennis.”

“Yeah,” Markus grins, “and he's good, too. He's got a couple of trophies back at home.”

Connor swallows another drink of coffee, and seeing his throat bob as it goes down gives Markus the compulsion that he should take a drink too. “That’s all fine and dandy, Markus, but we're deviating from the topic at hand. I’m interested in learning about _you_ right now. What else?”

“Uh…” Markus doesn’t spend a lot of time talking about himself. He's never been the type to. In all honesty, there isn’t much for him to say about himself as of late. He hasn’t done a lot of the things he used to do since his father's passing. Reading old novels, trying out rounds of speed chess…

_Music._

“I used to play piano,” he tries, attempting to bury the strain of the words in the heat of the coffee still running down his throat. When he thinks back to playing piano, all he can picture is playing with his father. Carl teaching him from not far behind. When Markus was young, all the way up to when Carl had gotten too sick to play.

“Used to?” Connor frowns. “How long has it been since you played?”

_“How long has it been since you played, Markus?”_

For a moment, the world around Markus seems to be devoid of color. The snow on the ground is too white, the telephone poles and streetlights and clouds too gray. What's the point of even bothering to play if the only audience Markus had ever entertained had been his father?

For the briefest of moments, Markus doesn’t care if he never presses down another piano key in his life.

“Markus?”

When Markus glances up again, it's to a world of color again. To honey-tea-brown eyes and cheeks flushed pink from the cold. To little tufts of brown hair peeking out from beneath a dark green stocking cap. Connor seems to know instantly when their eyes meet what's going on.

“This has something to do with your father too, doesn’t it?”

Markus doesn't respond. After all, Connor has his answer. When he registers what Markus has conveyed, his expression softens. “You and your father must have had a very strong relationship.”

Markus nods. “I don't remember anything before being adopted by him. He's the only role model I’ve ever had.”

“We have something in common, then,” Connor says, and when he catches Markus raising an eyebrow at him, he clarifies, “we were both adopted. I was five when my mother took me in.”

Something about that statement comforts Markus. He turns his head down and smiles. “I was seven. I’m twenty-three, now.”

“Twenty-one,” Connor replies. “How many years of school do you have left?”

“After this one?” Markus sighs. “Just one. That's why my friends are pushing so hard for me to get back on my feet.”

“You have good friends,” Connor thinks aloud. “They’re looking out for you.”

They really are. Markus doesn’t know what he would do without them. Simon and Josh and North are the only reason Markus is where he is right now. He wouldn’t ever have dropped out of school after how much money his father had put into getting him through it, but he would have given up on a lot more than piano and painting if not for them.

“Markus,” Connor starts again. He pauses to deposit his empty coffee cup into a trash bin. “I want to hear you play.”

_“Well? Let's hear it.”_

Markus hasn’t finished his coffee, but he doesn’t want it anymore. He crosses in front of Connor and drops his own cup into the trash as well. “Connor, I dunno…”

“Did you like playing back then?” Connor asks softly. “Before your dad died?”

“Of course,” Markus nods a little too quickly. “It was one of my absolute favorite things to do.”

“Then maybe,” Connor's wearing that stern look again, “it's the first step you need to make toward being able to paint again.”

Markus wants to play. God, he wants to play. And he wants Connor to hear him play. Connor has shown him so much beauty and amazement in the past week that one piano song is the absolute least Markus could do for him, but…

“The music room isn’t open this weekend.”

Connor frowns. “You don't have one of your own?”

Markus shakes his head. “Not of my own, no. There's Dad's, back at his house. But…I don’t know.”

Connor's eyes fall shut and he smiles, shaking his own head. “You don't have to, Markus. That's alright. I just thought it'd be worth trying. Plus, I saw it when I touched your hands the day you drew me. I know those hands. I know you play well. I wanted to hear it for myself, though.”

Markus laughs breathily. His throat feels rough. “You’re so dramatic.” He stuffs his hands into his pockets and then turns his head up, letting his eyes fall shut. “Tell you what. I need to check up on the house anyway. We'll go there, and I’ll play for you…okay?”

Connor lights up like a kid in a candy store. Seeing that smile alone, Markus knows he at least has to try.

\--- --- --- --- ---

_At thirteen, Markus meets his brother. Leo Manfred is a wiry-looking kid who, even two years older than Markus, is a couple inches shorter. He doesn’t look the least bit comfortable to be here. But his mother has finally agreed to give Carl partial custody of him, so every other weekend, he's at the Manfred residence._

_As Markus and Carl show him about the house, he regards the various decorations and knickknacks with equal parts awe and disgust. He keeps mentioning how expensive it all must have been, but he's also scared of half of it. He spends two seconds in Carl's room, but the instant he sees the cat statue on the fireplace, he ducks out of the room and heads back to the balcony corridor._

_Markus shows him his own room, and he can’t help but notice the way his brother's eyes regard the room almost in disappointment._

_“…It's so empty compared to the rest of the house,” Leo observes, and Markus bites his lip. He does feel a little guilty for that._

_“Dad and I don't know what kinds of things you like,” Markus explains. “But now that you’re here, you can put whatever you want in it. We're glad to have you, Leo.”_

_“Are you?” Leo wonders. Markus picks up bitterness and something else…something like sadness…in his brother's voice. “You don’t even know me.”_

_“That may be true,” Markus replies, trying not to let it get to him, “but I’m excited that I have a brother. It gets kind of lonely with just Dad and me. I can show you the art studio--"_

_“—I don’t give a shit!” Leo snaps._

_He and Markus both stare at one another there. After a few very long seconds, Markus is the first to break the stare. He draws his gaze to the floor and bites hard on his lower lip._

_Leo sighs. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it like that. I just don’t know anything about my own dad, and you know everything. You got to grow up with him.”_

_“Leo…” Markus swallows. “Dad loves you. That’s why he always kept this room empty. He knew one day he'd get to see you.”_

_“Still doesn’t explain why he adopted a kid instead of fighting harder for me.”_

_“…He didn't know about you until two years after adopting me.” Markus scowls. He doesn’t like his father's integrity being challenged. “Your mother kept you a secret from him.”_

_“Don't talk about my mom like you know her!” Leo hisses in retort._

_For the second time since the two have met, they’re caught in a stare-down. This time, Markus is irritated. He’s got his hands fisted tightly at his sides, and Leo’s own eyes are narrowed at him._

_“You don’t get to say that and then talk about Dad like you know him, either,” Markus snarls, before he turns and leaves the room._

_\---_ \--- --- --- ---

“Whoa...” Connor's voice echoes throughout the entire foyer of the late Carl Manfred's house. “You can definitely tell a famous artist lived here.”

“Dad did have unusual taste,” Markus replies with a laugh as he and Connor both regard the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. He nods for Connor to follow him up the stairs. He hasn’t known the guy for more than a week, but he doesn’t feel uncomfortable bringing him into his home. Connor just has this way about making you feel familiar with him. He's your friend before you even know it.

“I moved most of Dad’s things to storage,” Markus explains as he turns and heads to the balcony. He takes a right, toward his room. “But I don’t have the heart to take apart my room just yet.”

“Do you plan on selling the house?” Connor asks as they walk, and Markus shakes his head.

“If I have my way, no. This house is more than just the place where my dad lived. There are a lot of memories here I don’t want to let go of.”

“…So why put things in storage?” Connor questions.

Markus doesn’t answer. Instead, he stops in front of his bedroom. When he opens the door, he sees that his room looks just the same way as he had left it. He breathes a sigh of relief. It's only been a couple of weeks since he last checked on the house, but it still feels nice to see that his room is okay. All the posters and paintings are still in tact on the walls and on frames leaned up against different surfaces. Markus' sheets still rest on his bed. He takes in the scent of the different dried-on paints. It mingles with the smell of dust a little, but it’s still familiar enough for Markus to connect with it.

“…So this is what your paintings look like.”

Markus watches as Connor strides to a painting that still rests on an easel. He runs his fingers gingerly over the surface, and Markus can see his eyes darting up and down along the picture, taking it all in. Like a movie character looking into the eyes of their love interest. He feels a little flattered by the gesture.

Connor looks away from the canvas and to Markus. He's not smiling, but Markus can somehow make out warmth on his features anyway. “…I like your art a lot.” He glances about the rest of the room at all the other paintings strewn about. “You mostly do scenery, but there's something in the angles and the coloring that makes it…larger than life.” Folding his hands behind his back, Connor returns his attention to Markus. “Am I your first human model?”

Markus shakes his head. “They bring human models in from time to time at school. But I won’t deny you’re the one I’ve enjoyed working with the most.”

“I had better be,” Connor teases, before he suddenly seems drawn to something else. Markus watches him cross the room and move to stand in front of an empty aquarium.

“You had fish?” He wonders.

“Yeah,” Markus responds with a nod. He tries not to think much about how often it haunts his subconscious. “One. His name was Sebastian."

“Sebastian?” Connor frowns. “But Sebastian was a cra—wait…you did _not_ name him after the jerk in _Cruel Intentions_.”

Markus just shrugs.

“You really do love that movie, huh?” Connor jabs as he turns around to face Markus fully.

“It's an interesting movie, yeah,” Markus answers, “but it's more like I watch it for Ryan Phillippe.”

Connor scoffs softly. “You definitely didn’t strike me as the type who crushes on movie stars.”

“It's not a crush,” Markus grunts. “I mean…okay, he's attractive, but it's not that I’m obsessed with him. It’s more like he served as an awakening for me.” Markus still remembers sitting in front of the television screen in his living room at fourteen years old (perhaps too young an age to fully understand what was happening in the movie) and realizing that Ryan Phillippe was cute. That the way he played Sebastian in the movie had made his heart stammer somewhat. Ryan Phillippe had been the first man he had felt attracted to.

“Markus,” Connor's expression is calm, “you don’t have to answer this if it makes you uncomfortable, but what exactly is your sexuality?”

Markus shakes his head. “It's a normal question. I’m bisexual.”

“I see,” Connor's smile there makes Markus feel sick to his stomach in the best way possible. “I’d assumed you were at least into men with how North was talking, but I didn’t know. I’ll admit, I’ve been curious.”

“What about you?” Markus decides to ask, and Connor shakes his head.

“I don't honestly know,” he answers. “I’ve been with men, and I find women attractive, but I’m not sure if I just…appreciate their natural beauty or I’m physically interested in them. I don’t see any rush in finding out, though.”

Markus smiles warmly. Connor is just a couple of years younger than Markus, but he gets the feeling that the other man is still well down the road of self-discovery. He's very relaxed about it, though. Markus appreciates that about him.

“Where's the piano?” Connor suddenly asks.

Markus isn’t sure if he's been beating around the bush in terms of showing Connor the piano, but when it's brought up, he feels his pulse pick up a little. He worries at his lip, but nods and motions for Connor to follow him back downstairs.

Most times when Markus visits, he cleans a little. Dusts the surfaces and the remaining knickknacks that haven’t been sent to storage so that they don't look abandoned. But this time, Markus merely runs a finger along one of the shelves as he passes through the living room. He stops at the piano. It sits in a far corner of the room, nestled comfortably adjacent to a long bookshelf. It’s always been there. Ever since Markus was a young boy.

He trails two fingers along the top of the massive instrument as he circles it. His heart feels heavy, but he attempts to talk himself through it. “Dad used to play almost every morning because he knew I liked waking up to it. I’d always come downstairs to see him playing. I can still smell his morning coffee if I think enough about it. I can see it on the shelf next to the piano.”

“What kind of music did he play?” Connor asks. Markus notices that he is maintaining a safe distance away, almost as if acknowledging that the piano is Markus' space. Markus is torn between appreciating the notion and wishing Connor was closer. He's not sure he can be here much longer.

Despite that, he pushes himself. “Just about anything. He liked classical music, but he also found songs in movies and television shows that he wanted to learn. It was less that he favored a genre and more that he liked songs individually.”

“Your dad sounds like a wonderful person.” Connor's voice oozes patience, but Markus knows that if he doesn't try and play soon, he'll chicken out. That in mind, he takes a seat in front of the piano and lifts the cover. He casts a glance toward Connor. Their eyes meet.

He draws in a deep breath. Turns his focus back to the piano. Back to Connor. To the piano again.

Markus sighs.

His shoulders slump.

“…What are you afraid of?” Markus whispers to himself, though he knows Connor can hear him. He shakes his head and raises his hands, letting them hover over the keys. He doesn’t have the slightest clue what song to play, so his fingers hang awkwardly in the air.

He drops his hands into his lap again.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Connor questions as he approaches. Markus feels slender fingers close around his right shoulder.

Markus hates that he hesitates. That he wants nothing more than to turn around and tell Connor he wants to go back home. That revisiting his memories of his father is only making him feel weaker and more useless.

But Connor's words earlier still resonate with him.

_“Then maybe it's the first step you need to make toward being able to paint again.”_

How do those words feel so wise and so naïve at the same time? How do they spark Markus' curiosity with such intensity? When did Connor go from being Markus’ friend-imposed muse to such a strong and fierce voice of reason?

Markus shakes his head. “Sit down.” He scoots over a bit on his seat and pats the spot next to him. He doesn’t have to look behind him to know those brown eyes are watching him. And soon, Connor complies. His warmth next to Markus is soothing in the way a heat pack helps sore muscles. He has to resist the urge to lean into that warmth.

Markus thinks this time. Closes his eyes and thinks. Lets his mind decide which song he's going to play. What would be the easiest one? The one that comes to him most naturally? Which song does he have to use his brain less to produce and his heart more?

And of course Markus knows the answer to that question. The easiest song for him to play would be the one he used to play for his father. The one he had personally fallen in love with. The one he knows by muscle memory.

He raises his hands over the neglected piano keys and takes a deep breath.

_You can do this._

And then he plays. The first handful of notes are slow and solemn. Easy enough. Markus manages them without much trouble.

_This is the first step. If you can do this, you can paint one day, too._

He's nervous. His heart is pounding so hard in his chest that the roaring in his eardrums from his pulse makes it hard to hear what he's playing.

But then he realizes he's _playing._ For the first time since his father had passed away, Markus is playing. The thought of progress helps him slide more comfortably into the music, and like so many times before, Markus’ eyes fall shut as he plays.

It almost feels normal like it had so many months ago. Markus doesn’t see measures. He feels the music in his bones. Lets himself become one with it. His fingers are moving fluidly on the keys, as if he hadn’t taken a three-month break from them. They play in perfect tune, at his command, acknowledging him. Understanding. Markus feels connected to the piano like he had all those times before.

He thinks of all the same things he thinks about every time he plays. Of his friends and his school and morning coffee. Blue Powerade. Leo. Carl.

_Connor._

Markus thinks of Connor. Of the way the younger man moves throughout every single moment of his life. Connor flows through his days as if he's dancing on piano keys, and he wears a relaxed expression the entire time he does it. Markus thinks about how he'd like to keep up with that rhythm, and he also realizes that the only way he's currently able to is with how he's playing right now. Following Connor's lead. Drawing himself closer and closer to being okay again.

The chorus dies down and the music resumes the slow, melancholic pace it had at the beginning. Markus looks up and over, casting a glance toward his audience. Connor's eyes are wide with something like shock, and when their gazes meet, Markus can hear it without having to think about it. Connor is speaking to him without words. His heart rests right on his face.

_Don't stop. Don't you dare stop playing._

Markus closes his eyes again and slides back into tempo. Plays with surprising ease. Smiles to himself. He can almost see his father parked nearby. That proud, tear-stricken face. Those soft blue eyes. His encouraging words.

Connor is a lot like Carl. A true individual in every sense of the world. Ethereal and mysterious. The two would have gotten along very well. Markus would have been proud to introduce Connor to his father.

Maybe he’ll take Connor to visit him one day.

For now, he draws out the last few notes of the song and then sits back. His hands raise from the keys, and move to rest in his lap.

“Markus…” Connor shifts in his seat, and when Markus glances over to him, it’s just in time for the other man to take hold of his hands. “You should've seen yourself. You were in your own world, letting the music guide you. You were so free. Like each note came from your _bones._ I’ve never seen you so at ease. Imagine if you applied that to painting…if you’re half as passionate about it as you are playing piano, I can only begin to wonder what you could do.”

_Imagine if you applied that to painting…_

Markus wishes he understood that. Playing piano has always come naturally to him. He used to think art did, too. But…

“Your hands are shaking,” Connor observes aloud. Markus feels one of those soft thumbs brushing across his knuckles. “It's okay, Markus. You did it. I’m so proud of you.”

This is why Markus feels like he’s known Connor forever. The way Connor speaks, it’s like they’ve been friends for years. Like one night at a bar and an art session somehow amounts to a lifetime. With Markus’ shaky grip on reality as of late, it really could.

Markus is proud too, though. He's a lot of things right now. He's impressed that he had managed to get through an entire song without coming apart at the seams. He's excited that he's managed to make such progress. He's also absolutely enamored by the way his hands fit so comfortably in Connor's.

And he's exhausted. Physically, because he didn’t sleep well at all this morning, and emotionally, because he's just managed to take on a hurdle so steep that it blows his own mind that he did it. And at the same time, it's almost like he could take on the whole world.

“How'd you know by my hands that I could play piano?” he suddenly asks when he realizes Connor hasn’t let go of his fingers. He makes no effort to break the contact.

Connor smiles and shakes his head. “I didn’t. I was just going by the stereotype in hopes that it would motivate you. It seems to have worked.”

Markus frowns, legitimately confused. “The stereotype?”

Connor gazes down at their joined hands, and when Markus looks at his face, he sees that the other man is smiling. “You know…big hands with slender fingers. They say those are the hands of artists. The same apparently applies to musicians.”

“I know I’ve said this already,” Markus replies, “but you’re so dramatic.”

Connor just shrugs and releases his hands. He pivots and nods to the door behind them. “What's in there?”

Markus raises a hand and scrubs at the back of his neck with it. “…That's Dad's studio.”

It's where Markus learned to paint. Where everything began. Where a seven-year-old Markus Manfred had found his calling.

Almost as if pulled along by the memory of his childhood self, Markus gets to his feet and heads for the door. He opens it and waits for Connor to follow him in. A bell chimes as they enter and the curtains covering the windows in the room slide open automatically, letting in natural light from all angles. The room is mostly glass for that very purpose. Markus sighs pleasantly. He always feels the most at home in this studio. He can picture his young self running across the room, his voice squeaky with excitement, as Carl laughs and warns him to be careful in the studio. At the time, Carl had still been able to walk. His condition hadn’t really progressed until a couple of years after Leo's arrival.

Markus had been so young and naïve at the time. So very blind to the world around him. His past before foster care, no matter how little he could remember of it, had not mattered anymore. He had made some friends at his new school, and in the moment he had visited Carl's studio, he had known what he wanted to become.

“These paintings…” Connor starts, pulling Markus out of his thoughts. “They’re your father's?”

Carl's paintings are also something Markus hasn’t yet worked up the heart to take to storage. He doesn't think he ever will. They adorn every corner of the studio, propped against walls and mounted on displays. A giant blue painting of the obscured face of a man takes up almost an entire wall. It's perhaps the oldest painting on display, and it sits unfinished. Markus knows it’s because his father had lost the use of his legs halfway through working on it.

All his works are vivid and powerful, though. Even as Markus nods in confirmation of Connor's question, he knows the other man can't see it right now, because he himself is too focused on absorbing everything that Carl had created before his death. “Yeah. His work is definitely a big part of what inspired me to major in traditional art.”

“I can see why,” Connor agrees as he passes by an unfinished canvas sitting on an easel. He pauses, and turns to face Markus. “…This one is yours.”

Markus does a double-take. On the canvas rests a dusty painting of a hand extended into the air. Blue has puddled up on the palm of the hand and pours down in roughly-painted waterfalls between the fingers and over the palm. The style is vivid like Carl's, but Markus sees the subtle differences between his father's work and this one.

But he doesn’t remember painting it. The brush strokes are thick and sketchy and almost rushed. The mood is…desperate.

“No, it isn’t.”

Connor's brow furrows. “…But I’m certain it is. I get the same feeling from this one that I do from all those in your room. The mood is different, but I’m certain this is your work.”

“You don't know me enough to say that,” Markus reminds, perhaps a little too sharply. He sees the wound his words induces instantly. Connor's shoulders fall. “I’m sorry, Connor. I just--"

“—No,” Connor shakes his head. “You're right. It’s easy to assume I’ve known you for much longer than I actually have. But it’s not fair of me to be this forward at a time like this.” He folds his hands behind his back and smiles again, and Markus feels wounded with affection at the sight. “Maybe now is a good time to head back home and get started on our session.”

Markus realizes he keeps glancing between Connor and the painting he had mentioned. In all honesty, Connor has to be right. Who else could have done it? But why doesn’t Markus remember doing it?

“Yeah, you’re right.” He releases a sigh and motions for Connor to follow him. “Come on. I’ll treat you to some late lunch.”

Markus gets about as far as the piano in the living room when he spots someone else. He freezes in his tracks and lets his hands fall to his sides. Connor moves to stand next to him. Even without looking, Markus can tell Connor is confused.

“Leo,” Markus acknowledges calmly.

“…Hey,” Leo greets back, though he looks anything but calm. He's jittery enough that Markus protectively shifts a little closer to Connor.

“What're you doing here?” Markus asks his brother, brow furrowed.

“Y'know,” Leo chatters back, eyes darting wildly about the house, “checking up on the place. I do that from time to time.”

“That's good,” Markus responds curtly, trying to stay civil. “Glad to hear it.”

Markus doesn’t have to ask Connor if he can feel the tension. It's so thick that it's stifling. Makes it hard to breathe. Markus had never had a brilliant relationship with Leo, but after Carl's death, it’s been even more strained.

Leo sighs. “You can go, you know.”

Markus frowns deeply. “…Leo.”

“Don’t look at me that way,” Leo tells him almost sharply. At the very least, he doesn’t look the kind of twitchy that would tell Markus he’s under the influence of something. Instead, it’s more like he just doesn’t want Markus to be around right now. “I just missed my dad.”

Markus casts a glance to Connor, whose gaze is focused on Leo. He returns his own attention to his brother.

“Yeah…me too. We can go visit him sometime, if you’d like.”

“Hard pass,” Leo retorts. “I’ll find my own damn time to visit him. You and this guy,” he motions to Connor, “can go see him together.”

This is how their conversations always go. Curt and to the point. There hadn’t ever been a point in time when the two had bonded enough for things to ever be pleasant. Markus loves his brother, but Leo has always intentionally kept him at a distance, and because Carl had raised Markus as a son, jealousy plays a huge factor into their relationship.

Markus _hates_ that fact.

 He lets out a sigh and slides his hand around Connor’s shoulders, guiding him to the other side of the living room. “Okay. Just…call and let me know you’re okay from time to time, will you?”

Leo just shrugs. At this point, Markus will take what he can get. It’s been, what? A month since he last heard from his brother?

Neither Connor nor Markus speak when they leave the house. Markus has his hands jammed into his pockets as he paces down the sidewalk perhaps a little too quickly. Connor does well to keep up, but after a couple blocks of silence wand brisk pacing, it seems he can’t help but say something.

“Markus, you’re going too fast.”

Markus slows down and sighs. “…Sorry.”

“What happened back there?” Connor demands as they continue walking at a pace he apparently deems more manageable. “Who was that?”

“My brother,” Markus answers with a shrug, “Leo. Dad’s biological son. He didn’t get to see Leo until he was fifteen. I was thirteen at the time. I had five years of life with Dad over him. We’ve never gotten along because of that.”

“…Oh.” Connor looks like he feels a little guilty for having asked, and Markus finds himself feeling bad for having been so curt with him. He releases another sigh, before he reaches out and plucks the stocking cap off of Connor’s head.

“Hey!”

Markus manages something like a smirk in Connor’s direction as he tugs the cap down over his own head. “That’s better. Let’s go home, yeah? We’ve got a session to finish.”

“Oh, no you don’t,” Connor retorts, and for a second, Markus picks up something like comical anger on his face. “You promised me late lunch. Don’t you dare skimp out on me, Markus.”

“I never said I wasn’t going to feed you,” Markus laughs. It surprises him how easily he falls back into a pleasant mood there. He doesn’t fight it. “But maybe I decided I’m going to cook something instead of buying something.”

He winks back, payback for earlier, and any frustration resting on Connor’s face disappears altogether. He’s left gawking for a second, before his shoulders slump and he stuffs his hands into his own coat pockets.

“Okay, fine, fair enough. That means you’re feeding six people instead of just two, though. I’ll bet your roommates are starving.”

“Please,” Markus rolls his eyes, “they can take care of themselves. But that was kind of the point. If I came home with food for the two of us and not them, North would kill me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you guys so much for all your feedback! Your comments and kudos and bookmarks are loved, and they're often what gets me through rough days at work. Please don't hesitate to tell me what you think! <3 I love you all!


	5. Live a Little

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider this chapter a brief intermission, if you will. The pace slows a bit, and the focus is good times. I gotta let them all be happy for a few thousand words, okay?

Markus isn’t exactly Bobby Flay, but he can cook pretty well, given the circumstances. When Carl fell ill, he cooked meals for him if Home Health wasn’t around to do it. And even then, Carl found ways to teach him. Markus can still remember days when a bedbound Carl Manfred would critique him. The day he cooked a meal that Carl outright praised, he had been giddy with accomplishment.

Perhaps Markus is a little spoiled. Up until three months ago, he’s always had his father by his side in some way or another. Be it talking to him on the phone or dropping by to cook him a meal or playing piano for him, he’s always been there to remind Markus what’s important and to help him grow as a person.

Now, he has no idea which foot to put forward. It feels like each step is a stumble and that fish he’s desperately working to save in his dreams is always bouncing out of his hands from the force.

But in the kitchen of his apartment, tossing away at some stir-fry with his friends all surrounding him, Markus feels like he could maybe one day regain his balance. Leaned up against the counter next to Markus and the stove, Josh chatters excitedly to Connor about something they’d both seen in the news. Across the bar that separates the kitchen and living room, North, Simon, and Daniel argue over something they’re speaking too quickly about for Markus to process.

But they’re all having a good time. The atmosphere is totally different from the previous night, when they had gone out searching for Connor. It’s almost as if nothing had happened. On top of that, Connor fits right in. Daniel has always has a place in their circle of friends, being Simon’s brother and all, but Connor is basically a stranger.

Or rather, he _was._ At one point, the only person who had known anything about him had been Daniel. But now, Connor is just one of the guys.  It’s almost as if he's been here the whole time. In reality, it hasn’t even been two weeks.

It doesn’t take Markus long to finish cooking—stir-fry isn’t something that requires a lot of time—so soon enough, he has helpings dished out onto plates and is passing them around. Thirty seconds into eating, Daniel moans.

“Jesus, Manfred,” he grunts in delight, “your food is always so damned good. I need to come over more often.”

“Suck his dick a little louder, Daniel,” North teases, and Daniel flips her off.

“I don’t cook that much anymore,” Markus replies with a laugh, moving to lean against the counter as he himself eats. Next to him, Connor and Josh are chowing away.

“It's a sad truth,” Simon adds around a dramatic sigh. “Our boy leaves us to the delivery wolves and forces us to eat microwave lasagna most of the time.”

“Cruel!” Connor mock-gasps around a mouthful of food.

Markus raises an eyebrow. “With the way these trolls eat? Screw that, I could never cook enough.”

“…Rude,” North says, wrinkling her nose. “And after we paid all that money to get you a model.”

“You can have it back,” Connor retorts teasingly, and North laughs.

“Not a chance! I’m not giving Markus even the tiniest reason to back up on the progress he's made.” She pauses. “…How's that going, anyway?”

Markus shrugs. “Same as last time I told you. Connor and I are going to give it another shot after lunch.”

“Shit…” Daniel swallows a mouthful of vegetables. “Do we need to go find something to do so we don't distract you guys?”

“Nope,” Josh interjects. “Their studio is Markus' room.”

“…oh.” Daniel observes in realization. “No wonder North was talking like they were fucking earlier.”

“We're right here, you know,” Connor and Markus both retort in unison. They glance at one another, briefly in shock, before turning their attention back to Daniel. Connor speaks up this time.

“It just so happens that there's a spot in Markus’ room that appeals to both of us.”

“If you say ‘the bed',” Daniel snickers, “I’m dumping you and making you live here.”

Connor just flicks a piece of cabbage at his friend, who promptly catches it and pops it into his mouth. “On second thought, why _don’t_ you all go somewhere? Get us some drinks, and after Markus kills this session, we can celebrate.”

North, Simon, Josh, and Daniel all exchange glances. “…It _is_ Saturday, I suppose,” Simon thinks aloud. “I could handle a drink or two.”

“Get frozen lasagna, too,” Connor adds. “You’ve got me craving that for dinner tonight.”

Markus finds himself smiling at the way North rolls her eyes as they all gather their things and start out the door. Not for long, though, because Connor turns to face him once the door is shut.

“That doesn’t give us long. Let's get to it.”

Markus cocks an eyebrow. “You didn't stir the pot.” When Connor frowns at him in obvious confusion, he's quick to clarify. “The soap. North's suspicions about us. You didn’t try and add to it like you said.”

Connor's eyes meet Markus' and he flattens his lips a bit. “Did you want me to?”

“Not particularly,” Markus answers, and Connor nods and smiles up at him.

“Me either. It felt so strange being put on the spot like that. That’s why I sent them away.”

“I figured.” Markus smiles at him. “Anyway, let's go.”

\--- --- --- --- ---

_“It's so cold out…”_

_“We can go back inside…”_

_“It's too hot in there.”_

_Connor has his hands jammed in his pockets as he walks. Despite his complaining, he's smiling. He keeps stealing glances in Markus' direction. Markus, after three shots of vodka, notices and doesn’t have the filter that would normally have kept him from saying something._

_“…What is it?” he asks. He's at least sober enough not to outright accuse Connor of staring, even if that happens to be exactly what the guy keeps doing._

_“Do you still have a headache?” Connor asks._

_“Not really,” Markus replies with a shrug. “Suppose I just needed to get out of that club. I know my friends were trying to be helpful dragging me out here, but drinking and dancing aren’t usually how I unwind, you know?”_

_Connor shrugs. “Why are they trying to be helpful?”_

_“My, uh…” Markus frowns. “I lost someone recently and it's been affecting my studies, so they decided I needed to relax for a night. Nevermind it being a school night.”_

_Connor falls silent, and when Markus glances over at him, he sees that the man is wrapped deep in contemplation. It takes him a solid fifteen seconds on the dot to turn his attention back to Markus._

_“You’re having a good time though, right?”_

_Markus nods quickly. “Now that I’m out here, I am. It's definitely nice to leave the house every now and then.”_

_“Then forget the fact that it's a school night.”_

_When Markus looks at him again, he sees that Connor's expression is serious. Stern, almost._

_“So you drink a little,” Connor continues, rolling his shoulders as he walks. “You get drunk. Have a hangover. That's one miserable day after a long, fun-filled night. Two steps forward, one step back. You’ve got to enjoy yourself from time to time. Remind yourself that the bad things that have happened aren’t in your control and you can't keep trying to hold onto them.” He stops walking, and Markus does the same. “I don’t know who you lost, but if you’re hung up on them enough to complain about a headache on the single night you get out, they probably cared about you enough that they’d be turning in their grave to see you so uptight.”_

_Markus is left gaping. He doesn’t know Connor, and Connor doesn’t know him, but his advice makes sense. Carl hadn’t died so that Markus would wallow in his loss and misery and confusion. He hadn’t died for any justifiable reason. But it’s not doing Markus any good to dwell. Carl would be disappointed if he saw him doing so._

_“Do you want to talk about it?” Connor suggests, pulling Markus out of his thoughts. A glance over gives him the sight of Connor with his hands folded behind his back, the wind pulling his soft hair around a little. “I'll allow one venting session, and then you’re going to give me your attention and we're going to have fun.”_

_Maybe Markus should be offended. Maybe Connor demanding his attention isn’t something that should happen for a guy who needs to relax and unwind. Maybe it'll make him feel less in control and more overpowered._

_Or maybe it’s exactly what he needs. Maybe it’s a matter of keeping his mind off of what has had him feeling so miserable and defeated. Maybe Connor is just the distraction his friends were talking about._

_One vent. Get it all off his shoulders and then focus on moving forward, starting with this night and whatever Connor seems to have in store for him._

_“It was my dad who died,” he starts simply. “He was a well-known painter. He's the reason I want to be a painter today. Taught me everything I know. When I turned fifteen, he was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Lost the use of his legs, and then his arms, and then his hands. Even knowing what his diagnosis meant, I couldn’t process that he was going to die.”_

_Connor places a hand between Markus' shoulder blades, rubbing soothingly. “I’m sorry, Markus.”_

_Markus shakes his head. “I should have known better. Should have prepared for it. Because before I knew it, he was gone, and I lost everything. I never once thought how I was going to hold the paintbrush upright without his strength helping me, or who I was going to go to when I needed advice for school, or what I was going to do when I just wanted my dad, you know?”_

_Connor doesn’t speak this time. It’s as if he can tell Markus isn’t done. He drops his hand from Markus' back and waits for him to continue._

_“I know I have my friends. I know that. But everything feels a little bit heavier now. I’m not strong enough to hold the paintbrush, so I haven't gotten anything onto a canvas since he passed away. What's the point anymore? Everything is so much less colorful without him. It's like I can't even find the right surface to paint on without him. What is an artist without his muse?”_

_Connor hesitates again. Markus swears he's doing some sort of mental fifteen-count, because yet again, on the fifteenth second, he breaks out into a soft, wistful smile._

_“That's wrong, and even I know it,” he states plainly. “Because listening to your words, you even talk like an artist.”_

_And then he laughs. It's a soft, contagious laugh that has Markus doing so along with him, albeit nervously._

_“Is it just the booze talking, or are you always this full of metaphors and philosophical questions?”_

_All Markus can think is how Connor had been the one to suggest he vent. Maybe he had waxed a little poetic about it, but he’d just done as he was asked._

_He does feel better, though._

_\--- --- --- --- ---_

Soft sheets. The weight of day clothes still on Markus’ skin. The smell of his soap on the body pressed up against him. The gentle glow of the moon peering through the window. These are the things that pull Markus into consciousness, but he can't quite talk himself into opening his eyes.

Wait…a body pressed up against him?

Wearing his soap?

…Connor.

Markus finally lets his eyelids flutter open. It's dark in his room save for the moonlight cutting through the miniblinds. He feels heavy and rested at the same time. Like he would rather do anything but move from his current spot. Comfortable.

Right. He and Connor had settled on a nap. Markus had sketched for a good hour before he and Connor had devolved into a very heated yawning competition and decided to take a break. While Markus had fallen asleep facing away from Connor, it’s obvious now that both of them shifted in their sleep. Now, Connor is nestled face-first in his chest, the warmth of his exhales puffing out against Markus’ two shirts in slow increments.

He's still fast asleep. Markus isn’t so sure he wants to wake him. Maybe he can close his eyes and pretend this is normal.

Maybe it can _become_ normal. This is the slowest, easiest, most comfortable pull into consciousness that Markus has achieved in a long time.

But even he knows that's too forward. Too selfish.

He uncurls an arm from around Connor's frame and reaches up to give his shoulder a couple of gentle nudges. “Hey…Connor, wake up.”

Connor inhales sharply against Markus' chest, and then shakes his head. “Not a chance. Being awake is stupid right now. It's nighttime.”

“You plan on spending another night here?” Markus teases.

“If we're going to be drinking, yes,” Connor answers, voice muffled against Markus' chest. “If I do, do we get to share the bed again?” He finally pulls away, scooting back enough that he has room to prop his head up on his own arm. He's smiling sleepily, his eyes hazy. Markus is, for the millionth time, blown away by what he sees. “You're like a human furnace. I slept so well.”

Huh. Come to think about it, Connor doesn’t handle the cold well, does he? Markus always sees him in long sleeves or big coats, and he'd even openly admitted that he has more than one stocking cap at home. Markus wouldn’t mind trading his warmth for the comfort of a body nestled up against his own. It's been a long time since he last slept in the same bed as anyone, save for North. He's apparently missed it more than he expected to.

“You can stay, yeah.” Markus laughs as he pushes himself up into a sitting position.

Connor follows suit, rubbing at his eyes with the palm of his hand. “How much progress did you make on the sketch?”

Oh, right. Markus hadn’t shown Connor how far he had gotten. The two had been so tired that he had simply said he would continue where he left off later, dropped the book on the desk, and collapsed into his bed with both his shirts and his shoes on.

“…I think I finished it,” Markus recalls as he gets to his feet and picks up the book. Sure enough, the entire page is filled out. It's quite literally just a sketch, but Markus has finished the outline of Connor's body on the bed and the way the pillows are stacked up against the headboard. He even has some basic shadows scratched onto the paper to indicate a light source. The sketch is extremely basic, but with how much attention Markus has paid to Connor in the past week and a half, he knows he won't have any trouble remembering the details.

He turns his gaze across the room, where a folded up easel leans against the wall next to the window. How is it going to go when Markus starts to paint it? He'll be the first to admit the sketching part had seemed a bit too easy.

But Connor's rampant optimism has told Markus time and time again that he needs to take hold of opportunities like this when they come. If things are looking up, that's it. They’re looking up. No bells or whistles.

He passes the sketch to Connor, who crosses his legs and lays the picture out onto his lap. Markus can see the way his eyes dart across the picture, from one corner to the other. His mouth hangs open, and he just shakes his head.

“You made me look so relaxed…” Connor brushes his fingertips across the paper and bites his lip, before he turns his focus back up to Markus. “I love it. Do…do you think I could keep the sketch once you’re done painting it?”

…Wow.

Why does that question hit Markus so hard? When's the last time someone praised his art like this? Asked to _keep_ it? Made him feel like what he was going to school for was worthwhile?

Markus nods slowly, the shock evident on his face. “I don’t see why not. Consider it payment for this session.”

“Can I watch you paint, too?” Connor pushes.

It surprises Markus how quickly he nods again. “…Of course.” He never paints in front of people. It feels too pressuring. The only times he has broken this rule are for class and his father. But Connor is such a calm and easygoing presence that Markus imagines he isn’t going to feel like he's being scrutinized. Plus, he wants to show what Connor has helped him create.

Connor scoots up close to Markus there, moving the sketchbook aside, and slides his arms around him from behind. Somehow, it feels natural. Markus feels compelled to lean back against the embrace. Maybe he should worry about what this means for them, but he finds he doesn’t have any real necessity to. In the end, it’s just himself and Connor, crawling through their respective troubles together.

It doesn't _have_ to mean anything.

Markus feels the press of Connor's forehead against the back of his neck. “I’m glad I met you. I need you to know that.”

And then Connor is crawling off the bed and moving to get dressed. Markus realizes in this moment that Connor hadn’t changed out of the hoodie he wore for the drawing before he had fallen asleep. He also notices that Connor makes no attempt to get out of it. Connor seems to know Markus has a question about it on the tip of his tongue, because he just smiles as he slips his pants back on.

“I’m not trying to stir the pot if that's what you’re wondering,” Connor tells him. “I’m just still enjoying the warmth.”

Markus shrugs. “I wasn’t too worried. You can have it, as far as I’m concerned.” It looks far better on him, anyway.

When the two men exit the bedroom, they find all their friends gathered up together on the couch. Josh has his legs kicked up over both Simon's and Daniel's laps. Oddly, neither twin seems compelled to protest. North has taken control over the armchair. She perks up when she sees Connor and Markus.

“…Well?” she asks them both impatiently.

Markus shrugs. “I finished the sketch. Still have a long way to go, but it's definitely progress.”

North seems satisfied. She flashes Markus a grin and nods toward the kitchen. “Good. Drinks are in the fridge.”

Markus shakes his head. “I’ll pass. You guys can, though.”

“Please,” North rolls her eyes, “you’re not gonna be the only one here not drinking. Besides, I bought that nasty shit you like so much.”

Markus has never been a big drinker, but he knows without having to question North's words that she bought him his own personal bottle of Southern Comfort. When he sighs and makes his way to the fridge to remove it, Connor frowns.

“Somehow, you didn’t strike me as a whiskey drinker.”

“Not whiskey,” Markus clarifies. “just Southern Comfort. Dad and Leo and I used to mix it with eggnog. I get a craving for it every now and then.” As if to further his point, Markus retrieves a carton of eggnog from the fridge. North really had gone all-out.

He grabs a glass and makes quick work of the mixture. Smiling, he takes a sip and offers the glass out to Connor. “Try it.”

Connor looks, at best, deeply unimpressed. “No way.”

\--- --- --- --- ---

Despite that hesitance, Connor ends up drinking it. In fact, he finishes off the rest of Markus' glass and then asks for him to fix more. If there's one thing Markus quickly learns, it’s that Connor can handle quite the supply of alcohol.

Its three hours later that Markus finally gets to feel the buzz induced by his own carefully-paced drinking. The others are plenty tipsy, all gathered around the coffee table. Daniel has officially taught Josh and Connor how to play Circle of Death, and they’re all caught up in it right now. Markus doesn’t feel like nursing a hangover in the morning, so he sticks to his pleasantly buzzed feeling and sips away at one last glass of Southern Comfort eggnog while Daniel holds the rest of the group up in a heated Waterfall round.

When he finally lowers his drink away from his lips, he's laughing, because nobody else can bring themselves to continue the round and their drinks hit the table simultaneously. Most of them are out of breath.

“Are you _shitting_ me right now?” Simon gasps, glaring daggers at his brother. “One of us could have _died_ just now, asshole!”

“That's a little dramatic, baby brother,” Daniel coos. Josh launches his entire hand of cards at him. Markus can't help but notice he looks a little green.

“You almost finished a whole glass…” Josh grunts. “No way any of us were beating that.”

Connor sits back. “Yeah, I think that’s enough for me. You’re getting dangerously good at drinking games, Daniel.”

In the end, Markus watches the game devolve into a Speed match between North and Daniel. Connor disappears off into the hallway where Josh has suddenly gone running. Simon flashes Markus an apologetic glance before he follows.

“…Do you think he's okay?” He asks the last two people in the room. North scoffs.

“Probably just drank too quickly. Daniel wouldn’t let us stop in our last Waterfall round, after all.”

Daniel shrugs. “It’s a drinking game. Besides, the rules aren’t absolute.”

Josh is normally the more cautious of the group, so it surprises Markus that he kept going like that. What sparked his determination this time?

“Anywho,” North stands up, a little wobbly and drunk, “I just got a text from this girl who I’m _really_ interested in hooking up with. I’m gonna go see her.”

Markus crosses his arms. “You’re not going by yourself. I’ll take an Uber with you.” Neither of them are in the right condition to drive, after all, and Markus doesn’t trust anyone to handle a drunken North properly.

“Did I stutter, Markus?” North snickers. “I just said I’m gonna go hook up with her. You sure you want to be around for that?”

Markus knows he looks like he just took a drink of old milk. He most definitely doesn’t want to see someone who is basically his sister macking on someone else. “I meant I’d accompany you on the ride to make sure you got there safely. Do you know this girl?”

“We both do,” North replies, tucking her phone into her pocket. “Chloe. The blue-eyed blonde interning in the administrative office.”

“Wait,” Markus realizes aloud, “you mean Professor Kamski's niece?”

North grins. “Yep. Been hot for her since before I met my last girlfriend.”

Daniel is either not focused on the conversation or doesn’t care. He keeps shuffling the deck of cards in his hands. He’s getting sloppier with each try.

“Are you crazy?” Markus questions. “Kamski will kill you if he finds out.” Markus knows Elijah Kamski from his own childhood. Elijah and Carl had been close friends. He had even shown up to Carl’s memorial after he had passed away. He didn’t get to speak with the man much, but once he had started school, the two had shared a couple more conversations. One of the most prevalent things he had learned was that Kamski is very protective over his niece. She has little to do with her biological parents, so Elijah is the closest to a father figure she has.

“What he doesn’t know won’t kill him,” North answers slyly. “Besides, it’s just a hookup, and it's obviously consensual. Every girl’s entitled to getting her rocks off every now and then.”

Markus frowns and moves to take a seat on the couch. He sets up an Uber from his phone, shaking his head. “Just be careful, okay? I’m serious—he _will_ kill you.”

“Stop exaggerating and help me go get laid, Markus.”

It doesn’t take their ride long to get there. Chloe lives in an apartment a couple of miles away, while Kamski lives in a house on the outskirts of town. Markus feels a little better knowing that much.

The ride is mostly silent. North’s attention is focused out the window, and Markus thinks that her expression is maybe a little bit solemn. She hasn’t been with anyone since her girlfriend last cheated on her. This is only a hookup, and Markus kind of doesn’t blame her for that. He too would be done with relationships for a while under that kind of rough experience.

When she finally speaks up, it’s out of the blue.

“I just want you to know,” she says, her gaze still watching the scenery pass by through the window, “I’m proud of you.”

Markus doesn’t say anything. It looks like North has more to say, herself.

“I know it’s just a sketch, and I know that it doesn’t compare to the real thing, but it’s progress.” She shrugs, and then turns her focus away from the window and to Markus. “I can’t imagine how scary it must be to try and pick up where you left off, but you’re doing amazingly. I’m glad we happened upon Connor like we did.”

“How did you know he modeled?” Markus asks. It's a question that's been bothering him for a while.

“He doesn’t anymore,” North responds softly. “Or, well, _didn’t._ He was going to school to be one, but Daniel said he dropped out suddenly.”

Markus nods. “Yeah, he told me that.”

“But when we talked to him about it that night at the bar—”

“You talked to him then?”

“—he practically leapt at the opportunity. He looked over at you, saw the pretty boy who looked like he was going to start crying in his drink, and his bleeding heart hemorrhaged.”

Markus thinks back to that night. His disjointed thoughts, and his lack of general interest in anything the bar had to offer him. Until Connor had shown up. “You guys told him to go talk to me?”

North shakes her head. “We told him we knew from Daniel that he had some modeling experience. Asked him if he was interested in being your muse. He took care of the rest. But in our defense, you looked like you absolutely didn’t want to be there. Had he not gone and talked to you, we’d have probably called it a night.”

The vehicle stops in front of a duplex. There are two driveways, so Markus guesses Chloe lives in one of the apartments there. North leans forward and passes a ten-dollar bill to the driver, and then claps Markus on the shoulder.

“Don’t let it stop with the painting, okay?” She pleads, and Markus senses something like genuine emotion hiding behind those words. “I feel like this kid is taking you places, and you need to follow his lead. I’m not trying to push him on you or anything, but you should see the way you relax around him.”

And with that, she’s out the door and shuffling up the driveway.

“Don’t leave just yet,” Markus politely requests to the driver. “I just want to make sure she gets inside okay.” The driver just shrugs, and they both watch North make her way up to the door. When it opens and a girl with bright blonde hair greets her, Markus breathes a sigh of relief. “Thanks. We can go now.”

The entire drive back, Markus replays everything North said to him in his head. He can't get the solemnity of her voice out of his mind. Has she seen something surreal and almost inhuman in Connor as well?

\--- --- --- --- ---

When Markus returns home, Daniel is passed out on the couch(again) and Simon and Connor are outside on the balcony. Josh is nowhere to be seen, so Markus assumes his friend is asleep in his bed. He steps out onto the balcony to ask.

“How’s Josh?” He questions. Simon and Connor both flash him a smile.

“He’s alright,” the former responds. “Just had too much to drink. We got him cleaned up and propped up and everything in his bed. I’m going to go check on him here in a second.”

“It’s not like him to go crazy like that,” Markus thinks aloud as he moves forward to lean against the railing. “He must’ve been feeling particularly adventurous.”

“That’s my fault, actually,” Connor answers apologetically. “He wanted to have a good time and join in the game, so I told him I wouldn’t give up on it if he wouldn’t.” Looking at Connor, Markus can tell that he too is still a little drunk. It shows in the flush on his cheeks and the way he seems to be leaning against the wall for balance. At the very least, he doesn’t look too far gone—

_“I think I’ve had a little too much to drink.” Connor laughs softly. “Three shots of vodka is all it took. That’s strange…I can normally handle so much more.” He turns his head up to look at Markus, and then draws his attention away again. “Or perhaps it’s something else.”—_

“Oh shit, is he moaning?” Simon’s words pull Markus back to reality. He flashes Connor and Markus each a quick glance, visibly concerned, and then starts inside. “He’s probably about to be sick again. I’m going to go get him some water.”

“Little sips!” Connor reminds as Simon disappears inside. He shuts the door behind himself, leaving just Connor and Markus on the balcony. The sky is clear, but snow still hangs heavy on the ground outside. Connor moves to take a seat in the patio chair, and Markus notices that under the influence, Connor doesn’t sit in that same rigid pose. He’s slumped sideways, drawing with his finger in the snow that’s piled up on the patio table.

Markus thinks back to everything that happened today. To playing piano, and to meeting Leo. Drawing. Waking up with Connor in his bed, Connor telling him he’s glad he met him, watching everyone having a good time together…it’s been an extremely pleasant day. Markus got to see that his brother was still alive, play music for the first time in a long time, and…

_“Don't let it stop with the painting, okay?”_

_Connor_.

Even knowing that Connor had happened upon Markus because of his friends, he can’t help but think about just how airily the other man had fluttered into his life. That smile against all the music and lights in that bar on that night had been so startlingly angelic that Markus just can't imagine it was based on a ‘you should model for our friend the depressed guy’ request. Connor had made the decision to speak to him, and they had been inseparable ever since. It's been all of a week and a half, and Markus feels like he has known Connor for years.

He doesn't think this is going to stop after the painting is done. North has nothing to worry about.

“How are you feeling?” Markus decides to ask, leaning back against the rail to regard Connor fully.

“I’m alright,” Connor replies almost softly. He's a little fidgety, and as if he can tell Markus has picked up on that fact, he clarifies, “I’m resisting the urge to suggest we go inside so I can watch you paint. I know we’re both too compromised to do that right now, though…”

Markus laughs softly. “Why are you so intent on seeing me paint?”

Connor just shrugs. “I’m surprised you don’t know the answer to that already. I want to see if I’ve really helped you. Imagine how cool it’d be to be the person who pulled you out of your art slump.”

Markus wants to retort that Connor doesn’t know anything about his art. That the most he’s seen is the works Markus had finished during his high school years, and that one piece of art he doesn’t even recall painting in his studio back at his father’s house. He hasn’t seen anything Markus created during his university years. But he knows Connor doesn’t have any ill meaning behind his words, so he just laughs.

“You talk like I’m famous or something.”

“One day, you might be,” Connor answers back simply, his finger swirling in the snow on the table. “And I wouldn’t mind being the guy who helped you get there.”

Markus pauses. Frowns. “Why me? You got the modeling part done, so why are you still here?”

Connor looks up from his work, and then pushes himself up into a standing position. He paces over to the rail and leans forward, and then he casts a sly grin Markus' way. “I thought that much was obvious. It’s because I like you, Markus.”

Markus knows he shouldn’t read too far into those words, but it’s a challenge not to. They’ve been so close ever since they met, from Connor wanting to sleep in Markus’ bed to using his shampoo to so willingly touching his hands and giving him the best advice he can. But he also gets the feeling there’s something Connor isn’t saying. Something that’s been there this whole time, but Markus just can’t seem to grasp it. What is it? What is Connor trying to tell him that he can’t put into words?

“Besides, we’re friends,” Connor adds, pulling Markus out of his thoughts. “Daniel and I are close, but aside from him, you’re the only other one I’ve got.” He backs away from the rail and takes one of Markus’ hands into his own. He peers up, and those brown eyes seem to swallow Markus whole. “I’m going to go check on Simon and Josh. You should get ready for bed.”

It feels so strange and all-consuming to be looked at like that. But at the same time, it feels like that’s the way it should be. And as Connor releases his hand and turns away, Markus notices he’s still wearing the hoodie he’d slept in.

It’s in this moment that Markus Manfred realizes he’s attracted to Connor Stern. That his interest goes beyond that of simple curiosity about the strange boy who wormed his way into his life. That the way he catches himself watching how the wind carries Connor’s hair and how those honey-tea eyes bore into his own isn’t just because Connor himself is an enigma.

It’s because he’s much more interested in that enigma than he’d initially thought. And even though said enigma has said and done things that could hint toward the same feelings, Markus can't be sure, because Connor is _so damned mysterious._

One thing he does know, though, is that he's going to be around Connor long enough to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, your comments and kudos and bookmarks make my life and help me to keep going with this work! I live for feedback, and I love hearing what you all think! Thanks so much for reading so far! <3 I love you guys!


	6. Jericho

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait on this update! I'm not gonna delve into the crazy details of my insane working life, but I didn't want to write while I was tired from my job, so this chapter took a little longer. The good news, however, is that I got some new ideas regarding the story that I'm extremely excited to present to you guys in upcoming chapters!

_“…The shipyard?”_

_Markus doesn’t remember how long he and Connor have been walking for, but a quick glance down at his phone tells him it’s well after midnight. Considering he and his friends arrived at the club around ten, Markus can assume it’s been a while. Either way, he and Connor are outside at the old, snow-covered shipyard, walking along the stone pier where the ships are all docked. They’re all decommissioned, ancient and covered in rust. Connor stops in front of the one labeled ‘Jericho’._

_“I found this place a little over a year ago,” Connor explains, finally answering Markus’ question. “I’d needed some fresh air, and I worked as a night clerk at a hotel nearby. It was exactly what I’d needed. Peace and quiet, the sound of water slapping up against stone and metal, a gentle breeze…Ever since, this place has always been a retreat of mine.”_

_Somehow, this feels a little too convenient. A more sober Markus Manfred might have said that aloud, but the currently inebriated one doesn’t have the heart to. This moment feels too perfect to ruin with a thought like that. And perhaps it’s a little bit romantic of him, but Markus doesn’t want to believe the guy with the mysterious words and affinity for metaphors just happened to pop into his life. He wants to think there’s something bigger at hand here. Like the emotionally-trashed main character of a hit dramedy who just happens upon the quirky, easygoing character with all the wisdom and love for life in the world who pulls them right out of their depression._

_Is it honestly that bad for Markus to wish for something like that? He has a good life—he’s got great friends and a high chance at a future and it could truly be so much worse. But the drive behind much of that is gone, and Markus doesn’t know what to do without him._

_He speaks up with a smile on his face. His hands rest in his pockets as he turns his head up to look at the very ship they’re standing in front of. “I know the feeling,” he says simply, letting his eyes fall shut. “This shipyard holds a lot of childhood memories for me. The friends who came with me to the bar tonight…we all used to come out here all the time. Said one day we’d board Jericho and see what it was like on this inside.”_

_“…Did you?” Connor wonders next to Markus, and he shakes his head._

_“We tried, once. It’s all blocked off if you get close enough to the ramp. The cops saw us trying to get in and we all had to be escorted home. That’s one of the few times I’ve ever seen my dad angry with me.” Carl had been furious, but mostly because a seventeen-year-old Markus had come close to putting himself in some serious danger. “Looking back, it’s a good thing we didn’t end up inside there. This ship is ancient. The floors would’ve probably collapsed right under us.”_

_“Yeah, maybe,” Connor half-agrees, and Markus opens his eyes to regard the other man. This time, Connor is looking up at the ship. “Why was this your childhood hangout of all places?”_

_Markus lets out a breathy laugh—one that sends steam billowing out from his lips and into the snowy air around him. “It’s a funny story, really. Kind of corny.”_

_“That just makes me want to hear it more.”_

_It’s extremely cold out, but with the warmth of those words, Markus feels perfectly comfortable where he is. Connor is so at peace with everything going on around him that it’s unbreakable, and whether Markus wants to or not, he’s wracked with affection over that. Connor has a special sort of resolve to him that makes Markus want to know so much more about him. Where did he earn that resolve? What has his life been like? What made him have the urge to catch a breath of fresh air that put him at the very spot Markus has always cherished with every fiber of his being?_

_Markus doesn’t believe in any sort of god, but he finds himself praying that he and Connor are somehow connected and that this isn’t coincidence._

_“Alright,” Markus finally says, cracking a smile in Connor’s direction, “but you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”_

_“I can say it,” Connor teases back, “but it won’t mean it’s true.”_

_Markus blinks momentarily, and then turns his focus back up to the ship. “I met all three of my best friends between second and third grades. We’ve been inseparable ever since. We’d try and be on the same teams in group projects or during gym class, and we even tried to sign up for the same classes in high school. It’s always been that way. In third grade, we had a project where we had to pick team names, and just out of the blue, my friend Simon screamed out ‘Team Jericho!’.” He nods his head up toward the rusty words on the exterior of the ship._

_“That’s not corny,” Connor chides softly. “I think it’s cute.”_

_Markus just shrugs. “Anyway, my dad had a showing on this side of town about a year later, and he invited my friends and I along. We weren’t allowed to touch anything, so my friends were getting bored just looking at art. Dad managed to talk one of the security guards into walking us out here to the shipyard, and that’s when we saw this ship. It just blew our minds that it had the same name that we called our little ragtag group of friends. We came out regularly to see it ever since, up until we got into trouble for trying to get into it.”_

_Connor sighs, and Markus glances over just in time to see the steam rolling from his lips. “It’s so strange, the way things work out like that sometimes. Like us just happening to be enamored with the same shipyard.”_

_Despite Markus’ earlier thoughts, he can’t help but look away, clearing his throat. “I think that’s a little too much credit you’re giving to coincidence.”_

_“Maybe,” Connor replies, seemingly unharmed by Markus’ words. He raises his hands to his mouth and breathes steam into them, rubbing them together. When he lowers them once more, he releases yet another sigh and steps forward. Markus watches him fold his hands behind his back as his big brown eyes take in the ship from a little closer._

_“Let’s try to go inside.”_

_“Excuse me?” Drunk or not, Markus is definitely not trying to get onto this ship again. He’s a legal adult now. He could be arrested for trespassing. “Did you not hear a word I said earlier about what happened last time? It’s dangerous.”_

_Connor just smiles back at Markus. “Relax. I was only teasing. I just wanted to see how you’d react.” His smile grows solemn there. “I would like to show you something else, though. How do you feel about catching a cab with me?”_

_Their eyes meet, and Markus’ curiosity has him nodding instantly in agreement. He turns to start toward the street._

_And then, there’s that dull roaring again. Markus looks up at the road ahead just in time to see the color disappear from it. He glances over toward Connor, and Connor is gone. It’s just Markus and the shipyard, all alone._

_Before he can so much as call out to Connor, he’s hit violently in the back by crashing waves. Ice cold water surrounds him and makes him lurch forward. Oddly enough, however, he doesn’t lose balance and get caught in the undertow. Instead, the water disappears altogether, taking the surroundings with it. And as suddenly as the shipyard disappeared, new scenery resurfaces._

_He’s now standing in the living room of his father’s house. Carl is walking…god, he’s walking…across the living room. Markus watches him cross from the couch to the bookshelf, rifling through the various titles there. He turns and regards Markus with a warm smile._

_“I didn’t realize you’d gotten home from school.”_

_Markus remembers this day. He’s suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that he’s not conscious right now. He doesn’t know if he’s dreaming or just reliving a memory, but he knows what’s about to happen, and the very thought of it makes him sick to his stomach._

_Markus sees it this time—the very thing a fifteen-year-old version of him had been too naïve to see. But it’s there, on display for him this time. Carl may have his attention focused on all the books on his shelf, but the weight of a heavy heart makes his shoulders seem more slouched and his eyebrows all furrowed from the strain of the exhaustion pulling down on his eyelids. For the first time in Markus’ experience with him, Carl doesn’t look full of life._

_He looks scared and sick and tired._

_“Do you really enjoy painting, Markus?”_

_Following in the footsteps of his fifteen-year-old self, Markus nods eagerly. “Yeah, of course. More than anything in the whole world.”_

_Carl smiles there. Why hadn’t Markus seen how sad he’d looked until just now? “I’m glad. I’ve taught you everything I know, and while I’ll support you with whatever path you may choose, I’d hoped my teachings wouldn’t be for nothing.”_

_“I still have a long way to go,” Markus replies._

_“You do,” Carl agrees, “but it’s beyond basic artistic knowledge at this point. Now, you’ve got to apply what you’ve learned into discovering yourself. I can help you with the scientifics of it all until I’m blue in the face, but the beauty of art is that it isn’t about replicating the world around you or following the laws of science. It’s about expression. One day, you’re going to put something onto that canvas that isn’t anything like what I taught you, and it’s going to be yours.”_

_Carl turns his attention away from the books on the shelves and faces Markus fully. Had his smile really looked so pitiful and sad that day? Markus wants to cry at the sight of it alone. “I’m not gonna be around forever to take care of you, Markus. Now’s as good a time as any to start figuring out for yourself how you’re going to live life once you’re on your own.”_

_“…Dad…” The teenage Markus frowns._

_“None of that, Markus,” Carl retorts. “Why don’t you go upstairs and feed your fish? You almost forgot yesterday.”_

_This time, Markus almost expects the dull roar. He closes his eyes and waits for the wave. For the familiar, uncomfortable sensation of drowning. For that desperate, dying fish to pop up in his vision and horrify him back into consciousness._

_But it doesn’t happen._

_\--- --- --- --- ---_

He just…wakes up.

It’s still dark out, judging by the dim moonlight peering through the blinds. Markus doesn’t have to recall this time that he and Connor had gone to bed together, nor does he have to question the fact that they’re pressed tightly against one another. Last night, once Connor had deemed Josh and Simon okay, he had instantly pulled himself up against Markus' chest like it was nothing. He had fallen asleep before Markus himself had.

He's still fast asleep now. Markus’ heart melts at the sight of the head nuzzled into his chest. Connor sleeps against him like he's drinking in the closeness—like affection is something he doesn’t get much of. He doesn’t care what the implications of such closeness might be, and that's something Markus admires about him. Markus himself thinks about it more than he feels he should.

But right now, he needs a drink and a moment alone with his thoughts. So, with no small amount of effort, he carefully worms his way out of Connor's grip and slides out of his bed.

He dreams about his memories of Carl a lot, but he's never dreamed about _that_ moment before. At the time, his teenage self hadn’t known it, but Carl had received a phone call that day. A confirmation of results from an MRI and a series of other tests. He had been diagnosed with an aggressive case of multiple sclerosis. The doctor had already made it clear to him that he wouldn't likely be able to control the progression of the condition because of its severity. That he would just have to hope he could slow it for as long as possible. That it was time to start making plans for a life with a definite expiration date.

Markus hadn’t learned this until he had hit seventeen. After being escorted home by the police for trying to climb aboard the old freighter at that shipyard. Carl, after his anger had subsided, had come clean to Markus about everything. Had begged him to not put himself in danger again like that, because the last thing he wanted to do in his predicted less than ten years of remaining life was bury his child.

Those words had so fiercely resonated with Markus that he had obeyed without question. He hadn’t understood fully that his father was going to die, but he had realized that they didn’t have much more time together. Markus had cracked down on his studies and started applying for schools. He had worked hard painting and playing piano, focusing on everything he could to make his father's last moments proud ones.

Has he lived up to that? Is Carl watching him from somewhere, filled with pride and accomplishment? Markus sure hopes so. At present, he doesn’t feel like that’s the case, but all that means is that he’s got to work on himself a little harder.

He pours himself some water and heads back to his room. When he arrives, Connor is sitting upright. His hair is a little mussed, the tee shirt Markus lent him before bed hanging to the side and exposing a good portion of one shoulder. He's got his legs crossed as he looks up to regard Markus. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Markus answers with a quick nod. “I just woke up thirsty.” He takes a drink of his water and slides back into bed. “Sorry if I woke you.”

Connor shakes his head, a serene smile on his face. “It's alright, no big deal. Just come back to bed, okay?”

Listen to him, talking like this is commonplace. Either Connor has no clue about Markus and his budding feelings for him or he doesn’t care. Regardless, he practically pulls Markus back up against him and nuzzles up into his chest like earlier.

Connor speaks up one last time before they both fall asleep.

“It's really going to stink when I have to go back to my own apartment tomorrow night.”

\--- --- --- --- ---

Later that morning, Markus attempts another step forward. While the rest of his friends are starting to get around for the day and Connor is in the shower, he brings his easel away from the wall and opens it up, placing a canvas atop it. Seeks out paints he hasn’t touched in months. Lays them out on his desk and analyzes them. He can see the picture in his head. The lighting, the pastels he wants to put onto that canvas. The highlights dancing along one side of Connor’s face and the shadows crawling along the other. He knows the mood he wants to convey. He’s seen that mood regularly for nearly two weeks now.

But he really _can_ tell he has slid backwards a lot in the past few months. He doesn’t know where to begin. He thinks maybe he can start by creating a few color swatches, but when he goes to do so, his hand falls short before he can even so much as pick up one paint color.

It’s not like anything is holding him back right now, either. He’s not panicking and he’s not dwelling. He just…it’s been so _long_. Three months is like a year for a person who has been painting daily up until recently.

And there’s also a part of him who can’t help but think back to the last time he had attempted to paint. The art room that he may or may not have actually gone to on the day that he had hallucinated rain. When Simon had shown up and picked him up off the ground. How much of that had been real? Had Simon even _been_ there? Had Markus hallucinated the whole thing in some pre-stomach-flu fever dream?

Things have made a lot more sense lately, but Markus can’t stop himself from wondering how much of what he has gone through has actually been real. Going to the bar with his friends, meeting Connor…that mysterious night that his memory is slowly forming back together little by little. Did it even happen? Connor doesn’t talk about it…

The only reassurance he has is that Connor is here now. Connor had known Markus by name when he had shown up for that first drawing session. Connor had regarded Markus like he was familiar with him, so it has to be real.

Right?

“You’re going to paint today?”

Connor’s voice is so familiar to Markus by now that hearing it is like hearing one of his friends’ voices. He doesn’t have to look away from what he’s doing, but he does so anyway. Connor stands before him in his pants and the tee shirt Markus had lent him, a towel draped over his shoulders. His hair is still a little damp, his curls bouncing every which way. Even unkempt, he still looks too damn beautiful to be real.

“I thought about it,” Markus admits with a smile, turning his gaze back to the supplies he has spread out across his desk. “I’m not sure if I’m trying to talk myself into it or if something else is getting in the way…”

“Like memories of your father?” Connor questions, and Markus shakes his head.

“No, not this time.” He releases a sigh and turns to face Connor once more, leaning back against the desk. “Do you remember when I told you about the rain last week and you corrected me?” Connor nods slowly. He hadn’t been chiding back then either, but Markus can tell now that he’s feeling even more compassionate about the situation. “Well, I really thought it had rained. It had looked so real. I had wanted to _paint_ that rain, Connor. I’d gone to the art room on campus and tried and the storm had knocked the power out. Simon had been there. And when I started drawing you and freaked out right in front of you like I did, it was because I had sworn I’d screwed up and scraped this big nasty line across the entire paper. It’s like I’ve been hallucinating, and at this point, I’m not sure that what I put on that canvas is even going to be real.”

Connor spends several long, agonizing moments pondering Markus’ words. He knows they sound crazy, but he hates seeing the way they’re affecting the man standing before him. However, as Connor drops the towel to the bed and combs his fingers through his hair, he looks the polar opposite of bothered by them. He even smiles a bit.

“It’s a good thing you’re going to let me watch, then,” he points out simply, as if Markus’ words hadn’t been so heavy they’d felt thick on his tongue. “Because I can confirm to you all the times you need me to that it’s real. I really want to see the finished product, Markus…so I’m here, okay?”

There’s no way this can be real. There’s no way that Connor and Markus have the same emotional attachment to a defunct freighter at the shipyard or that they just happened to meet when Markus was at his worst, or that this borderline ethereal individual has chosen to stay in the life of a failing artist, right by his side, unendingly. There’s no way Markus could have possibly gotten this lucky.

But still…

“Yeah, okay.” He smiles back up at Connor, reaching up to scrub a hand over the back of his neck in embarrassment. He had hated admitting that, but he’d also needed to tell someone.

“Mind if I make a suggestion, too?” Connor adds as he makes his way to Markus’ closet. Markus just nods along. He doesn’t have the heart to scold him this time. Besides, it’s like Connor belongs here anyway.

“Yeah, go ahead,” he replies when he remembers Connor can’t see him nodding with his face buried in the closet.

“If Simon was there,” Connor says as he pulls out another sweater—a dark red one—and shrugs it on, “why not try asking him about it?” He plops down on the edge of Markus’ bed and slips his socks and shoes on. “You’ve been under a lot of stress. I think you’re entitled to letting your grip on reality falter a little. But just because the rain wasn’t real doesn’t mean nothing else was.”

Connor is right. He usually is. Wise beyond his years, Markus can only imagine the heart-to-hearts he and Carl would have had together. Markus really hasn’t given the idea of confronting Simon about what happened any real thought, but it’s mostly been because his mind has been elsewhere pretty much ever since it happened.

When Connor stands up, fully dressed, he nods toward the door. “Simon wanted to go somewhere today. We should see if Josh is feeling up to it.”

\--- --- --- --- ---

That somewhere happens to be a trampoline park. Markus has been there quite a few times with his friends, so he tags along without complaint. Josh, hungover as he is, opts to stay home, and out of guilt from the previous night, Daniel offers to keep him company. North is still at Chloe’s, which leaves Markus, Simon, and Connor to themselves at the park.

“How’s North doing?” Simon asks as he and Markus bounce from trampoline to trampoline easily.

“She’s still at Chloe’s,” Markus answers. “Says they decided to go out for breakfast and that Chloe is going to give her a ride back home once they’re done.”

Simon smiles. “It sounds like _that_ hookup went well.”

“I think it did,” Markus responds with a laugh. “She earned it. Chloe’s a nice girl, though.” Markus imagines, knowing how Chloe is, that she and North both established what they wanted before jumping into anything. North doesn’t want to be hurt again, and Chloe has always been an extremely straightforward and honest person. She’s the polar opposite of her uncle, who often speaks in riddles and leaves Markus confused. Carl had understood Kamski well enough, but Markus had always been stuck searching for hidden meaning in the man’s words.

Markus gets the feeling whatever happened between Chloe and North last night isn’t the last they’re going to be seeing of each other. This makes him feel better about having let her go out there the previous night. North is an adult, though. She can definitely take care of herself. Markus has always respected that about her.

“So, the drawing thing,” Simon suddenly says, pulling Markus out of his thoughts. They’ve stopped jumping and are just standing on one of the trampolines. He’s got both eyebrows raised as he regards Markus. “Do you feel like you’re getting somewhere with that?”

“Yeah, I do,” Markus answers with a nod. “I mean, it’s slow. You know I finished the sketch, yeah?” When Simon nods and lets out an affirmative grunt, Markus continues. “I broke out some supplies to get started painting this morning, and…it’s rough, but I think I’m almost ready to get to work on it.”

“I mean,” Simon smiles at him, “baby steps, y’know? But if you ask me, I think you’re getting better. Past couple of weeks I haven’t had to pick your ass up off the ground, which is a plus.”

“Speaking of which,” Markus starts, remembering Connor’s earlier suggestion, “I need to ask…do you remember the day I got sick recently?”

Simon laughs. “You mean when we quarantined you?”

“Yeah, asshole,” Markus elbows him. “But before that. You found me in the art room, right?”

“All doubled over and panting, yep,” Simon responds casually. “Why?”

“Was it raining that day?”

Markus watches Simon’s brow furrow down in deep thought. “Markus…it’s winter.”

…That was what he had expected to hear. But at the very least, Markus had actually made it to the art room. Had attempted to paint. Had doubled over and been recovered by Simon. That much had been real. The rain, however…

“I went to the art room because I’d wanted to draw that rain,” he clarifies. “I swore I’d seen it during class.”

“Wait…are you trying to tell me you hallucinated rain?” Simon’s frown deepens. “Markus…are you okay?”

“I think so, yeah,” Markus answers honestly. “You said it yourself—the past couple of weeks have been better. Maybe I’ve just been so stuck in my own head that it’s been mixing with my perception of reality or something.”

“You know you can see someone for something like that, right?” Simon suggests, and Markus can tell looking at him that he’s being serious. “I mean, you’ve always got us, and the new kid seems to really want to help, but seeing a therapist might not be a bad idea, either.”

Markus knows that much. He’s had the suggestion of seeing a therapist brought to his attention more than a handful of times. Between all his friends, his teachers, and even Elijah Kamski himself, Markus knows it would probably be a better idea to talk with a professional about it, and the thought of doing so has never really left his mind. He might do so one day, but for now…

“Yeah, I know,” he slides his hands into his pockets and shakes his head. “I was going to give it until the six-month mark, but if I need to do something sooner, I promise I will.”

“You’d better.” Simon laughs. “What the hell are the guys and I supposed to do if you go completely insane?”

Markus is about to speak when the room suddenly erupts into cheers. He and Simon both turn toward the source of the noise. At a trampoline toward the middle of the room, a bunch of children are gathered around Connor. There are about five or six kids, and they all look like they’re maybe in first or second grade.

A little blond boy in the front of the group speaks out first. “Do another one! Another!”

Connor just laughs. Markus can tell by the look on his face that he’s a little embarrassed to be suddenly swarmed by excited youngsters, but at the same time, he looks like he’s enjoying it. He and Simon watch as Connor holds out a hand.

“Stay right here, okay? I don’t want to land on any of you.” He then steps back and bounces onto the trampoline behind him. He jumps into the air once, twice, a third time, before rolling fluidly into a backflip and landing on his feet. The kids cheer again, the blond one the most excited of them all.

“That’s so cool! You gotta teach us!”

A backflip isn’t anything spectacular, but even Markus feels drawn to the sight. A glance over at Simon tells him he’s not alone.

Connor stops bouncing and laughs again. “If you can jump high enough, you can do it. You guys want to know a secret?”

The children all swoop in close as if Connor’s about to tell them something for their ears only. Still, when he speaks, it’s loudly enough for Markus and Simon to both pick up on the words.

“A backflip is actually _easier_ than a regular flip.”

“No way!” A brunette with a ponytail points to herself. “I can do a regular one! But I can’t land on my feet…”

“It takes practice,” Connor replies simply. “I didn’t know how to do it either at one point. You’ve just got to keep trying until you get it. Nobody goes into anything just magically knowing how to do it.”

Simon hops his way over, and Markus follows suit. Connor spots them and waves. “Hey, guys.”

“Can you guys do a backflip?” The blond boy asks. Simon and Markus exchange glances.

“Just front flips for me,” Markus says with a laugh. Simon, however, hops back and, after a few seconds of jumping, does a backflip himself. The kids cheer again, and Connor joins in on the applause.

“Tell them how you do it, Simon,” Connor suggests, moving to rest his hands on his hips. He looks just the slightest bit out of breath.

Markus has always known Simon is good with kids, so when he fits right in with the group of children, this only solidifies the fact. He glances about all the kids, before shrugging his shoulders. “It was scary the first time. I did a whole lot of jumping and _thinking_ I was gonna flip, but had a lot of trouble actually doing it. But one day, I just _went_ for it!” He pulls another backflip there, and the children erupt in excited cheers again.

“Do one together!” A raven-haired boy cries out, and Connor and Simon exchange glances before hopping onto adjacent trampolines. They bounce out a one-two-three-count and then launch into a flip.

Markus doesn’t realize it until he catches himself cheering along that he can’t stop smiling. He’s so caught up in enjoying the scene playing out before him that he doesn’t notice when a shy little red-haired boy approaches him and tugs at his shirt.

“Can you do your front flip?” He asks softly, his hands dropping down and balling up into his shirt. Markus doesn’t know how to even go about telling a face like that no, so he nods and makes his way to the trampoline next to Connor. A few bounces later and he’s spinning in the air. He kicks his legs out in an attempt to catch himself on his feet and lands on his heels, which sends him reeling onto his ass onto the trampoline.

The kids all laugh, but when Connor and Simon and the redhead start applauding, everyone else follows suit. Markus finds himself laughing along.

“Alice!”

Markus glances up in time to see a woman hopping from trampoline to trampoline until she reaches the brunette with the ponytail. She drops to her knees in front of the girl as a much taller man approaches. He stops, moving to stand beside the woman, and smiles down at the little girl as she wheels around and faces them both.

“Kara! Luther!” The girl smiles widely, throwing her arms around the woman’s shoulders.

Wait…Kara?

As the woman scoops the girl up into her arms and stands back upright, Markus recognizes her facial features. He instantly gets to his feet. “Kara?”

The woman frowns for a second, but her face lights up quickly enough when she recognizes him. She was one of the Home Health aides who had taken care of Carl. Markus recalls seeing her from once he started college all the way up until his father passed away. And judging by the smile on her lips, she remembers him as well.

“Markus, right?” She greets, and Markus nods quickly. “It’s so good to see you!”

“You too!” He motions to her hair. “You…cut your hair. Last time I saw you, you kept it up. It looks good on you like this too, though.” The ‘new’ style is much shorter, and it falls down in fluffy white layers atop her head. It’s perfect for her round face.

Kara laughs. “Yeah…I needed a change, you know?” She nods to the little girl in her arms. “This is Alice.” The girl shyly hides her face in Kara’s shoulder, despite having been so eager before when watching Connor perform. Either way, Kara motions to the man standing beside her. “And this is my fiancé, Luther.”

Markus shakes the proffered Luther’s hand, and then focuses on the girl in Kara’s arms. “Is she your daughter?”

“Basically,” Kara says with a laugh. “Luther and I can’t legally adopt her yet, but once we’re married, we’re going to start working on it.”

Judging by how eagerly Alice shifts from Kara’s arms to Luther’s and how she hugs him tight, Markus has a feeling the little girl wants it just as badly as her potential parents seem to.

“Markus,” Simon’s voice draws his attention away momentarily. “We’re about to head out. Meet you in the car in fifteen?”

“Sounds good,” Markus replies, before turning his focus back to Kara. They stride back off the trampolines to get their shoes back on. Luther helps Alice put hers on and mere minutes later, she’s fast asleep over Luther’s shoulders.

“How’re you holding up, Markus?” Kara asks him seriously as she slips her shoes back on.

“I’m alright.” It’s only half a lie, because Markus could be far worse off, even if he knows he’s still got a lot of moving on to do. Right now, he doesn’t want to focus on that, though. Anyone who knows Carl is always so quick to tell Markus how sorry they are for his loss. Kara, on the other hand, Markus knows was very attached to his father. She’d mourned his death as if she’d been part of his immediate family. “Thanks for coming to the funeral.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Kara answers honestly. “I go visit him from time to time. Wish I could leave him some of that scotch he loved so much.”

Markus smiles wistfully. “If only.” He sighs and looks up to her. “You really have no idea how much good you did him. He loved having you around, and you helped me big time, since I was in school.”

Kara shakes her head. “Your father was an amazing man. Sure, I clocked in and got paid for it, but listening to that man talk was one of the coolest experiences of my life. He’s such an important mind in today’s day and age. And he really loved you and your brother.”

They both fall silent, there. Leo is a difficult subject for everyone. He’s always kept to himself, even before Carl passed away. Even Kara doesn’t know much about him.

Despite that, she speaks up again. “I saw Leo when I went to visit Carl yesterday. He’s looking better.”

“Yeah,” Markus swallows, “I thought so too. Saw him at the house yesterday, myself.”

“You think what happened opened his eyes?” Kara wonders, and Markus shrugs.

“I dunno. I’d hate for Dad to have had to die for him to grow up.” The words come out with far more bitterness than Markus had intended, but once they’re out, there’s nothing he can do about it. He swallows and looks back down.

They both stand up there, and Kara moves to bring a hand to his shoulder. “You’re entitled to your anger toward him, Markus. But if he’s turning over a new leaf, I think Carl would be happy to know that. You don’t have to be nice to him just because of that, but just know your brother is getting better, okay?”

Markus nods. His situation with Leo is always going to be a little cagey. He’s got all kinds of reasons to be angry with the guy, but Leo is also Carl’s son. Markus won’t forget that. “Yeah, you’re right. I told him to call me sometime. I’d like to see him do that one day.”

“Me too.” Kara smiles. “Anyway, Alice has to get back home, so I’ve got to go. You take it easy, alright?” She holds her arms out, and Markus moves forward and pulls her into a tight hug. Kara always did give the best hugs.

“Yeah, of course. Don’t be a stranger, Kara.”

\--- --- --- --- ---

It hasn’t really been that eventful of a day. Most of the afternoon was spent at the trampoline park, and after that, Markus and his friends had gone out for dinner. After bringing food home to Daniel and Josh, Daniel had decided to head home. Connor hadn’t wanted to leave yet, so Markus decided he’d give the guy a ride later on. If it wasn’t a school night, Markus would have invited him to stay over again. Sleeping alone is going to _suck_ tonight…

But after watching a couple of crappy horror flicks with Josh and North and Simon, Connor has decided it’s time for him to head home. And that’s how Markus finds himself driving down the street that will inevitably take him to that apartment above that bar. They’re silent for the most part, and when Markus looks over, Connor almost appears as if he’s going to fall asleep with his head resting against the glass of the passenger’s seat window.

He looks so peaceful. Markus swallows a lump of admiration at the sight.

“You’re tired, huh?”

“I am,” Connor laughs around a small yawn. “I haven’t gotten a workout like today in quite some time.”

“I didn’t even notice,” Markus responds with a smile as he turns onto the next street. “You looked like you belong out there.”

“I definitely don’t,” Connor answers a little too quickly. When he notices that, he clears his throat. “It’s just…that’s the first time in _years_ I’ve gotten to do something like that for enjoyment.”

Markus frowns. “…I’m not sure what you mean by that.”

“It’s a really long story,” Connor says apologetically. “Sometimes, I think about what it took to get where I am when it comes to that kind of thing, and I get a little bitter. Remember how I told you I attended dance classes at the studio?”

“I do,” Markus replies. How could he forget? He doesn’t think he could ever forget anything Connor has ever said or done.

“Well, I took gymnastics, too. I had to be the best at everything. Mom put me through a bunch of different classes. Said I had to be able to do anything the job called for. At the time, I hadn’t known I would be going to school to be a model.”

Markus can’t help but notice that Connor speaks about those classes like he didn’t choose a single one of them. Sure, his father taught him piano and how to paint, but only because Markus had said he’d wanted to learn them. Connor, on the other hand, it seems as if he’d been forced into a career field he has no desire to be in. No wonder he dropped out.

“…Did you want to be a model?” He decides to ask, and Connor laughs. He almost sounds miffed, but not quite. There’s something else in his voice that Markus can’t quite decipher.

“At some point, yeah. Maybe in a different universe, I’d still want it. But now…not a chance in hell.”

“What _do_ you want to be?” Markus pushes, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Connor shrugs. “I don’t know. I like working at the pharmacy. Minimal stress, no pressure. I deal with angry customers from time to time, but even _they_ can acknowledge that I make mistakes from time to time.” He seems to need a second to collect himself, and Markus hears him do so via a long inhale and an exhale that’s just about as long. “But even then, it’s so mundane. I want to do something people really _appreciate_ , you know?” Markus doesn’t even have to glance over to know that he’s watching him. “Like your art. You’re so phenomenal, Markus. I could never hope to forget you. These people picking up their pills…they know me long enough to swipe their card, grab their prescription, and be on their way. You, on the other hand…”

“Don’t do that, okay?” Markus cuts him off, shaking his head. He glances over and sees that Connor is watching him carefully. Not quite apologetically, but he doesn’t look like he wants to retort, either. “Underselling yourself because you don’t have a job in the arts. Art is great, and I love using it to express myself, but it’s not the only good field to work in. I’m sure you’ll find your calling, Connor, and even if it’s not where you are right now, you can’t be so hard on yourself. People wouldn’t have their medicine if not for you. If not for people like you, my dad’s life would have been cut a lot shorter after his diagnosis.”

Connor seems to get the point, there. He turns his attention down to his lap and kneads his hands together. “You’re so wise, Markus. Your dad would be proud.”

Speaking of him…

Markus swallows down something like nervousness in his throat, and then clears it with a few grunts. “Actually, on that note…” It’s nothing like the real thing, but Markus wants so desperately for Connor and Carl to meet. Two extremely powerful forces coming together and helping Markus realize a lot of things about his own life…he wants to see that. But for now, he’ll take what he can get. “I’d like to take you to see Dad if you’d be up for it.”

Connor glances back up at him, eyes wide. “Really?”

“Yeah, absolutely. I know it’s kind of weird, since he can’t talk back to you, but—”

“—of course, I’ll go.” Connor’s smiling. “I’d be honored.”

Markus pulls the car along the curb in front of the bar.

“Call me, okay?” Connor suggests as he opens the door. “Let me know when you’re ready to go see him.”

“Definitely.” As soon as Markus sees Connor climb out of the car, he makes an impulsive decision and speaks up again. “And Connor?”

Connor pivots, stopping short of closing the door. He cocks his head, waiting for Markus to continue.

“…Can I buy you dinner after?”

There’s a long pause, wherein Connor blinks at Markus and stares in silence and Markus counts every single second that passes. He made the offer without really thinking about what the consequences could be, but now that the question is out, he can’t help but worry.

And then Connor grins. He rests a hand on the hood of the car and leans in again, eyebrows raised and head tipped to the side. “What exactly does that mean, Markus?”

The meaning is obvious. But rather than outright blurt out ‘a date’, Markus wants to make it clear that he’s content with whatever Connor will give him. Just having Connor in his life has been so important to him. He’ll be happy so long as he never has to say goodbye to Connor. That much, he knows for certain. So, when he speaks up, he’s absolutely sure of his words.

“It means whatever you want it to, Connor.”

Connor’s eyebrows fall back down to their normal spot and his smile widens. Markus watches him wet his lower lip with his tongue.

“It’s a date, then. Call me, Markus.”

And then he’s gone. He turns and shuts the door and heads up the stairs that wrap around the side of the building.

Markus spends a few seconds sitting there in the driver’s seat, trying to compose himself from the amount of relief he feels. His heart is racing, but at the same time, he feels so at peace with himself.

Maybe it’s not the best idea for Markus to be thinking about romantic relationships while he’s working so hard to heal, but he can’t help himself. And surely, Connor’s not too surprised. They’ve already shared a bed together, and Connor has just left for his apartment while still wearing Markus’ sweater. Their first drawing session, Connor was already half-naked in his bed.

Even the normally-calm Markus Manfred is giddy like a schoolkid. He has no idea how he’s going to keep his excitement to himself when he gets back to the apartment. He’s not sure he’s ready to confess to his friends that the very thing North had called from the get-go has a chance at happening.

But as Connor steps out onto the balcony and waves to him before he drives off, he thinks it doesn’t really matter. Markus can handle a hit to his pride if it means he gets to see those big brown eyes and that soft, sparsely-freckled face again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for giving this a read! All your lovely comments really do keep me going with this work! I love you all <3


	7. I Needed My Brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this update took so long! This chapter is just about twice as long as my normal chapters, so you can guess what took me so long. >.>
> 
> In any case, this is a big chapter, both figuratively and literally. I'm so excited to show you guys what I have planned beyond this!

_Markus has been to funerals before. Most of them were burials of good friends of Carl that he doesn’t have much recollection of other than holding his father’s hand and looking up at him when he saw him start to cry. He remembers a lot of prayer and a lot of music and a lot of tears. Sad people surrounding him. Funerals have always been awkward to him. Dismaying. Unpleasant._

  
_But he’s never been to a memorial service, and that happens to be what he’s at right now, for his own father. It was in Carl’s wishes to be cremated, so rather than standing in the same room as an open casket with a dressed-up body inside, he’s in a gathering room inside one of the local funeral homes, listening to a man with a bible talk about his father._

  
_The area is divided into two rooms. In the main room, where the preacher is, a vast array of friends and acquaintances and fans are seated on pews. And in a separate, nearby room is where family sit. To themselves, where they can grieve freely. The room isn’t full to the brim. It’s just Markus, Leo, Kamski, Chloe, and a few other people from out of state that Markus doesn’t recognize._

  
_Markus can hear those around him sniffling, but he has yet to shed a tear. He’s already so very tired of mourning. He doesn’t want to be sad, because he can practically hear his father telling him that it’s pointless to go crazy on emotions and lose yourself in your sadness when you should be celebrating who the kind of person was when they were alive. And on top of that, he’s been mostly in charge of arranging the memorial service and the other necessary tasks that come when someone dies. He’s had some help from Kamski, but for the most part, it’s all been on his shoulders._

  
_He’s got to be the strong one._

  
_Next to him, Leo isn’t crying either, though he looks like he wants to. As the preacher rambles on, Leo has his hands knotted tightly into one another, thumb scratching irritably at his own skin, while he narrows his eyes down at his lap. He looks like he might break down or start screaming any minute._

  
_And Markus kind of understands why. These services are always heavily religious, and Carl never was. And while the preacher is only speaking in the faith he truly believes in and is wishing Carl well from the bottom of his heart, he doesn’t honestly know him. He’s currently going on about how Carl Manfred has his own spot in Heaven, where he’s watching down upon the vast amalgamation of people he made his mark on with a smile. In between, he quotes bible verses and compares Carl to them, and even Markus is finding it hard to listen without getting a little angry._

  
_It’s not the preacher’s fault. He knows this, but Carl was so much more than what this man says. Carl wasn’t just a famous painter with a huge, supportive fanbase. Carl was a father. Carl was intelligent and wise and his disease took him far before his time. Carl picked Markus up and put him back on his feet so many times that he can’t even begin to thank the man properly, no matter how he tries to put it into words._

  
_At the same time, he’s starting to wish he’d delivered the eulogy himself. Especially when the preacher decides to suggest that some of Carl’s works were inspired by the Lord, himself._

  
_Leo seems to think the exact same thing. Out of the blue, he stands bolt upright. Markus tears his gaze away from the preacher to gape up at his brother from his chair. Leo shoots him a glassy-eyed glare and then starts for the other room, striding impatiently right up to the podium. He waves the preacher away and shoves the bible in his face._

  
_Markus moves to follow him, but a hand on his shoulder stops him. He glances up and over, just in time to see one Elijah Kamski move to take a seat where his brother had once been. His eyes meet the blue ones of one of his father’s closest friends, and he feels…strangely calmed by that presence. Something in Kamski’s gaze tells him that it’ll be alright. To let Leo have his moment._

  
_So Markus does. He turns his focus up to his brother just in time to see him immediately break down crying. Leo doesn’t seem to care that he’s sobbing and snotting right in front of everyone in the main room, and on some level, Markus admires that. And eventually, after working to compose himself, Leo glares across the crowd and speaks up._

  
_“My dad wasn’t just ‘a good man’,” he barks out over the podium. “There’s a lot I don’t know about him because I didn’t get to see him very often, but every time I came over, he was good to me. And I was an asshole to him. He…He knew I didn’t fit in very well, because I came into his life kinda late, you know? But he was always asking me about things I wanted to do, and what kinds of things I liked.” Leo laughs a little nervously, making an ugly display out of wiping snot from his nose with the back of his arm, followed by a loud sniffle._

  
_“I spent so much time being mad at him, mad at the world, for how little I knew him, that now he’s gone and I wish I’d have tried to get to know him better. That’s the thing—I don’t know much more about my own father than you people do. All I ever did was tell myself I already knew all there was to know about him and get mad about what I did know.”_

  
_He narrows his eyes at the preacher there, and said preacher curls in a little on himself. Even Markus can tell he feels a little guilty. He makes a mental note to find the man and apologize to him later._

  
_“But I know more about him than you ever will,” Leo continues pointedly, before directing his attention back to the audience. “I know that Dad wasn’t just some obscure reference to a bible verse. His good didn’t come from words ingrained into your mind during Sunday school. Dad’s good came from the way he handled every situation that came in front of him. He was headstrong, but he was also compassionate. He was smart and observant. He probably knew things about me I didn’t even know about myself. And for those of you who only know him from art shows and public viewings, you’re not mourning the loss of my dad—you're lamenting how he's not producing art for you anymore. Get over yourselves.”_

  
_Leo sighs there and removes the beanie he’s been wearing from his head. He clutches it to his chest. “I do know one thing: we're gonna stop comparing him to religion and remember Carl Manfred instead of the lines in your stupid book.”_

  
_Leo scoffs there, and then he leaves the podium, storming out of the funeral home. Kamski gets to his feet and jogs up to it, taking over from there. People exchange glances, and Markus starts to cry._

  
\--- --- --- --- ---

  
Markus wakes up with the sun that morning. The light peering through the blinds is comforting and warm, but Markus’ first thought is how it doesn’t compare to the way Connor had felt all nestled up against his chest. Markus can faintly smell Connor's cologne on the pillows and sheets. He misses it. Has ever since Connor had to leave and his life got busy again.

  
Finally, winter is starting to edge away. March is nudging its way into April, and the snow grows slushier and slushier every day. Spring break is in a week, and Markus can’t be more relieved for it.

  
Despite his offer to go see Carl’s grave with Connor, the two have both been so very busy with their own respective lives for the past couple of weeks that they haven’t seen much of one another. It’s now been four months since Carl passed away.

  
But they’ve finally managed to make plans for their evening together. Tomorrow afternoon, when Markus gets out of classes, he’s going to pick Connor up for dinner, and then they’re going to go visit his father.

Markus is looking forward to a lot of things with that. He’s looking forward to visiting Carl, who he hasn’t done so for in far too long. He’s looking forward to those long walks he and Connor have a habit of taking, their hands tucked into coat pockets as they talk about just about anything. And god, he’s looking forward to seeing Connor.

  
Thinking about that is a good distraction from the dream Markus has just awakened from. But also, on some level, he appreciates the little reminders his dreams have been giving him lately. Flashbacks to parts of his past that he maybe doesn’t want to be reminded of, but also that he needs to recall for the sake of the importance of the situations.

  
A week after that memorial service, Leo and Markus had decided to scatter their father's ashes together. It’s one of the most crippling memories Markus has regarding Leo, but also one Markus knows he would be wise to remember. Leo has a lot of feelings about everything following getting to meet his father, but the things he said on that night are the rawest. The most important. The most poignant. Haunting, but so very necessary in understanding why Leo is the way he is.

  
A reminder that Markus can still do something to salvage their relationship as brothers. Kara's words from the trampoline park only solidify that fact, and no matter how emotional and challenging Markus’ memories involving Leo are, he knows he needs to have hope.

  
While Connor has been an intense force in getting Markus back onto his feet lately, he also knows that he wants his brother in his life. They don’t have to forgive each other. They just have to move on, and with any luck, they can do that together.

  
For now, though, Markus pushes that thought aside and moves to take a shower.

  
\--- --- --- --- ---

  
In the end, Markus decides to spend his day with his friends. Between school and Connor and everyone's respective social lives, they haven’t gotten much chance to do so. So now, he, North, Simon, and Josh are all splayed out across the living room floor, doing absolutely nothing.

  
It's therapeutic. With classes as busy as they have been and Markus’ memories popping up to visit him and the painting he still hasn’t started haunting him, he needs something like this. Considering the respective situations his friends are enduring as well, between classes, he figures lying down together and just letting their minds roam is just as relaxing to them as it is Markus.

  
Right now, they’re staring up at the ceiling. Markus knows he’s got the dumbest pondering look on his face. He’s so relaxed. His friends always make him feel like this. He loves them more than they’ll ever know. He wouldn’t be where he is right now without them.

  
Team Jericho, at its finest.

  
None of them are speaking. In Markus’ mind, he likes to imagine he isn't the only one tracing thoughts into the lines on the ceiling. Following the grooves as if they’re some sort of timeline. He doesn’t have to think hard about it right now to picture his young self sprinting along the swirling white, kicking a soccer ball with his friends, working on a class project with them, gathered around his sketchbook with them.

  
These are things Markus isn't sure he could forget even if he wanted to. Childhood memories that got him through some rough days. Memories that continue to drag him through his struggles nowadays. Without them, Markus doesn’t think he ever would have made it this far.

  
He finds himself wondering if the others feel the same way. Over the years, they’ve all been through their own respective struggles. Did they all cling to their memories to help pull them through like Markus has? They’ve all been so busy being used to how close they already are as friends that Markus hasn’t even thought about asking. Their friendship is solid and unbreakable. They’re strong without relying on the past.

  
But those memories are like a foundation, and Markus will always stop by to revisit the place they all came from every now and then.

  
Maybe silence would be awkward in most situations, but in this one, it’s not. Markus feels perfectly comfortable in it. He lets the sound of everyone’s breathing fill the air. The presence of himself and all his friends is like an embrace all on its own.

  
But he also doesn’t mind when North is suddenly hovering right over him, perched above him by her elbows. She's got a big, dopey grin on her lips.

  
“You’re making the art geek face again,” she tells him plainly. The art geek face is a term she coined ages ago. It exists for the purpose of describing a face Markus makes when he gets lost in his thoughts. At one point, it had also been the face he would make right before he got an idea for something to paint.

Going by the look on her face, Markus assumes she's hoping for the latter.

  
He wishes he didn’t have to disappoint her. He hasn’t painted yet. Maybe after his date with Connor.  
His date.

  
He really is going on one of those, huh? How long has it last been since Markus took anyone out on a date? Perhaps it’s been a little too long, but Markus also doesn’t regret dedicating so much of his time to his ailing father and his studies.

  
And if he hadn’t been single, he might not have met Connor. He doesn’t like that thought one bit.

  
God, he can't wait to see Connor again. Being in that man's presence is like an out-of-body experience. Markus suddenly feels lighter around him. His words are so full of thought and wisdom that it almost feels surreal. The world around them almost ceases to exist when they’re together.

  
And then there's his physical beauty. Connor is all soft features, from his wispy hair to his round face, the light dusting of freckles on his skin. His slender frame wears Markus’ clothes better than Markus himself does. He has a presence to him that makes him almost ethereal. Barely human. Maybe not even human at all. Markus can't think of a single time when he hasn’t looked at him and felt utterly mesmerized.

  
“Holy shit,” North speaks again, and when Markus returns his focus to her, she's gaping down at him. “You’re thinking about Connor right now, aren't you?”

  
Markus raises an eyebrow at her. “What makes you say that?”

  
“Oh, nothing,” North teases, shoving his shoulder before she twists and flops back onto her back. “Your face just got dumber than usual. You look like you’re about to sprout cartoon hearts from your eyes.”

  
“Which, by the way,” Simon adds from nearby, “means we called it.”

  
Markus just shrugs. “You guys know I’m taking him out for dinner, so you shouldn’t act surprised that I’m a little happy about it.”

  
“We’re not surprised,” Josh chimes in. “We’re just giving you hell for it.”

  
“We’re happy for you,” Simon adds. “You haven’t worn that face in months. We might have asked Connor to go talk to you that night at the bar, but we didn’t expect it to actually turn into something. If I’m being honest, we thought you’d never draw him out of sheer politeness.”

  
Markus shrugs again. “Well, it seems you’ve underestimated how persuasive Connor can be. It’s thanks to him that I even got started. If not for him, I’d have probably kept suggesting we stream movies. But,” he turns onto his side, facing Simon and Josh, “it’s not _something,_ yet. I’m taking him to dinner. We’ll see how it goes, but I don’t want you guys assuming anything. Y’know, for Connor’s sake.”

  
“Yeah, yeah,” North waves a hand lazily in the air.

  
“What about you?” Markus suddenly asks, cocking an eyebrow in her direction. “You and Chloe have been spending a lot of time together. Are you guys still hooking up?”

  
A quick glance in Simon and Josh’s directions tells Markus his friends are curious about the same thing.

North just rolls back onto her back and shrugs. “Something like that. She knows I’m not very excited with the concept of relationships right now, but I haven’t made it easy for her to keep it from turning into one.” North smiles solemnly. “I like her, and I know she’s not cruel enough to make me repeat the past, but…I just don’t want to get my hopes up.”

  
“Have you told her this?” Josh questions.

  
“…Not in those words, no,” North responds honestly. “I’m sure she knows, but I haven’t said it like that.”

  
“Try taking it slow,” Simon suggests nearby. “If she’s into the idea of starting a relationship and you really like her this much, you should both be willing to go at a pace that gives the both of you time to see what you’re going to get out of it. Easy peasy, no big commitments.”

  
“Says the most single guy in the whole circle,” North teases, and Simon scoffs at her.

  
“I’m just focusing on my studies right now,” he retorts. “Besides, there's nothing wrong with being single for any amount of time. When I decide I want to start dating, I’ll start dating.”

  
Markus notices that Josh hasn’t said anything in a while. He moves to question this when Josh cuts him off with a statement that has all three other friends hopping up from the carpet like it's hot lava.

  
“Remember when Leo barfed here at our housewarming party?”

  
While everyone else makes loud displays of being disgusted by the memory, Markus finds himself thinking about his brother again. Leo hadn’t often come into his life following his father's passing. The last time he had seen Markus’ apartment complex had been when he and his friends had first moved into it. The time Josh had mentioned just now. Long before Carl had died.

  
But seeing him at the house with Connor…hearing from Kara that he had dropped by Carl's grave…dreaming about him…

  
With the path Markus’ dreams have carried him along lately, he has reason to believe this is all important on some level. That maybe he needs to pay Leo a visit. Find where his brother is staying. Attempt to reconcile with him.

  
But that stormy night, when he and Leo had attempted to scatter Carl's ashes, many things had been said. Harsh things from both brothers. Things they both bear a great deal of hostility toward one another for to this day. Things Markus had at some point come to the mental conclusion that he couldn’t take them back, and that perhaps it was better for the two of them to part ways.

  
Markus can count the number of times he and Leo have laughed together or looked out for one another on one hand, but he feels as if there's always going to be a part of him who wants to be able to have a good relationship with his brother.

  
Leo isn't a bad kid. He's just been through an incredible amount of hardship that someone his age shouldn’t have to suffer through. He hasn’t learned how to process it right, and even Markus can say he hasn’t yet figured out how to process his own struggles.

  
Markus grabs blue Powerade bottles from the fridge and tosses one to each of his friends. Simon starts up their TV and pulls up Netflix. Markus moves to take a seat with them, but North spins and narrows her eyes at him in a twisted smirk.

  
“I want food.”

  
“Excuse me?” Markus cocks an eyebrow at her.

  
“You heard me, Markus. I want food.”

  
Oh, he heard you, alright. He just doesn’t feel like cooking. And with such a negative attitude, too…

  
“I hear Ravioli House isn't charging delivery this week,” he jabs back.

  
“I don’t want Ravioli House,” North retorts.

  
Markus shrugs tauntingly. “Start Googling other delivery places, then.”

  
“You know,” Simon chimes in, “your cooking does sound pretty good today.”

  
Markus frowns. “You too? Really? You people only love me because I could be Chopped Champion.”

  
“I'll help you,” Josh speaks up. “Been a while since I last touched a stovetop, though.”

  
North and Simon both seem lost in thought for a moment, before Simon switches the television from Netflix to Spotify. And the next thing the friends know, they’re all in the kitchen, cooking together to music from their childhood. Josh and North belt Britney Spears across the kitchen from one another and Simon tries and fails to get them to lower their voices a little.

  
With time, Britney Spears shifts to Green Day, and then to the Black Eyed Peas. Classic song after classic song plays, even long after the pot pie they’ve decided to cook is finished and halfway consumed. Even as Markus is throwing leftovers into Tupperwares in the fridge, Backstreet Boys plays in their living room.

  
Markus doesn’t realize it, but he's completely at ease. No lament over his father, no misery about not being able to paint. No concern for Leo, no nervousness about his dinner date with Connor. School doesn’t have him worried. It’s just Markus, his friends, and a bunch of old music being sang into forks and spoons from lips and tongues stained blue with Powerade.

  
North does end up ordering from Ravioli House—a whole cheesecake for herself and her roommates—but by the time the order is delivered, all four friends are passed out in the living room. North, draped across the armchair that might as well be hers. Simon, asleep on one side of the couch in a sitting position with his body slumped over the armrest. Josh, sprawled out on the couch with his feet in Simon's lap. Markus, on the floor in front of the coffee table.

  
He's the only one who responds to the delivery man at the door. He gets up on shaky, sleepy legs, and shuffles his way to the door. A grumpy, scar-nosed man greets him, though Markus manages to wipe the scowl off his face with a generous tip. He shuts the door and carries the dessert into the kitchen, placing it in the fridge.

  
For a moment, he contemplates waking his friends up to send them off to bed, but he figures they’ll get around to it eventually, and after casting a smile in their direction, he ambles off to his own room.

  
\--- --- --- --- ---

  
“Burgers?” Connor has his hands folded behind his back as he observes the sign on the restaurant's balcony. It proudly announces the words _‘The Burger Bar—but we’re famous for the fries!’_ and Connor seems more than a little perplexed by that.

  
He's dressed up just a little, Markus notices. It's nothing drastic, of course. He just sports a blue and black plaid button-up and a nice pair of dark-wash jeans. He looks good. Even with a jacket on over the shirt, his clothes hug his frame in all the right places, and Markus allows himself the liberty of admiring that fact for a minute.

  
He almost feels a little underdressed by comparison, in his three-quarter sleeve black undershirt, green and gray sleeveless hoodie, and black jeans. Connor doesn’t seem to mind, though. He turns to face Markus and grins.

  
“So,” he questions, smiling impishly, “which is it for you? The burgers or the fries?”

  
Markus releases a soft laugh. “Neither. I’m here for the sauces.”

  
Connor cocks an eyebrow, so Markus continues in an attempt to explain.

  
“This place is well-known because it offers just about every fry flavor you can imagine, but because of its many different types of fries, it’s also got an insanely wide selection of sauces for the fries. My personal favorite is the cinnamon butter dip for the sweet potato fries.”

  
Connor frowns at him. “That sounds awful, Markus. First, you put Southern Comfort in your eggnog, and now this?”

  
“Need I remind you that you drank more of that than me that night?” Markus teases.

  
“It gives a good buzz,” Connor retorts, almost pouting. Markus finds the expression adorable. He can't think of a single time he hasn’t adored Connor, though. “Sweet potato fries sound like death as it is, let alone with cinnamon butter.”

  
“Alright,” Markus responds gruffly, laughing as he pats Connor's shoulder and urges him into the restaurant, that’s enough out of you. You can't knock it until you try it.”

  
The interior of the Burger Bar has three floors: a main floor with a full-service bar, a lower floor, where orders are being called out and the wide array of sauces and condiments are kept, and a top floor, where you can sit out on a large balcony outside or eat indoors. Connor and Markus take one of the booths indoors.

  
Connor studies the menu for several moments, and Markus almost gets the feeling that he's scrutinizing it. Brown eyes scan each page, and then he peers over the menu at Markus. Considering all but his eyes and forehead and hair are masked behind it, the image is pretty amusing. Markus bites back a laugh.

  
“Dill pickle fries? Really?” Connor grunts.

  
“I’m with you on that one,” Markus replies calmly around an amused smile. “the only thing that should taste like a pickle is a pickle.”

  
“And then there's lemon pepper, barbeque, old bay, and don’t even get me started on the sweet potato flavors.”

  
Despite these words, Connor ends up ordering a sampler plate. Markus watches him go through each of the flavors, looking unsure at first, but he eventually seems to resolve to the fact that they actually all taste good in their own way. However, when he decides the hot orange flavor in the vanilla icing dip is his favorite, Markus is genuinely surprised.

  
“I definitely don’t want to hear you throwing shade on my food taste anymore, now,” he prods as Connor stuffs hot orange fry after hot orange fry into his mouth.

  
“Hmph, _don’t knock it until you try it,”_ Connor sneers mockingly around a mouthful of fry, before he shoves one in Markus’ face. On impulse, Markus lets his mouth fall open and takes the sample.

  
“Shit, that's spicy!" he hisses, downing some of his soda after he finishes the fry.

  
“That’s what the dip is for, Markus,” Connor chides softly, and Markus suddenly can't tear his eyes away from him. Connor is smiling lazily, his head tipped to the side, arms folded out onto the table. He leans halfway across it and wets his lips with his tongue. “Are you done eating?”

  
Maybe it was because of the nerves from even taking Connor out, but Markus didn’t eat much. He did take the time to enjoy an order of his sweet potato fries and cinnamon butter dip, but the burger he ordered with them is only half eaten. However, he isn't really that hungry, and in all honesty, he's itching to go visit Carl.

  
“If you are, yeah,” Markus finally replies, and Connor rolls his eyes.

  
“North wasn’t kidding about you being the token gentleman, was she?” Connor questions with a laugh.

  
“You're having a good time, right?” Markus asks.

  
“Of course.”

  
“Then you’re welcome.”

  
Maybe it would have been a smarter idea for Markus to wine and dine Connor at some ritzy joint with easy listening music playing in the background. Maybe they could have had fancy, expensive meals with waiters in actual suits taking care of them for the evening. Maybe, just maybe, he could have treated Connor like royalty.

  
But somehow, Markus gets the feeling Connor would have poked more fun at that than he had the sweet potato fries. Something reminiscent to _“You really took this seriously, didn’t you? You don’t have to be so uptight, Markus,”_ simply because nothing between them has ever been uptight. It has all come so naturally that Markus figures they could have grabbed fast food and sat eating on the curb and Connor would have been satisfied.

  
Besides, this restaurant is closer to the cemetery. Markus had purposefully chosen it with the intention for himself and Connor to be able to walk there. To sip at coffees and exchange conversation like they always do. Markus is quickly finding that their long talks are extremely important to him.

  
As they stroll easily down the sidewalk, Connor asks Markus about school, and Markus asks him about work. They exchange stories like they haven't seen one another in months. Markus regales Connor with a tale about how a pigeon managed to fly its way into one of the lecture rooms on campus and literally sent that room into utter chaos just by fluttering around, and Connor laughs alongside him. Connor tells him about Daniel’s latest squeeze, because the pigeon story reminds him of the fact that said squeeze has quite the affinity for birds.

  
It feels less like conversation and more like catching up, and Markus mentally vows not to let this much time pass between their interactions again. Even if he has to call Connor, he cherishes his every word so much that he will do so gladly.

  
“What about the painting?” Connor asks as he walks, turning his gaze toward Markus while he does so. “Have you started on it yet?”

  
Markus shakes his head and releases a sigh. “It's easier said than done. Dunno why sketching was so much more feasible. I look at it every now and then and tell myself I should get to work on it, but the thought of putting a brush on a canvas makes my muscles freeze up.”

  
“Hmm…” Connor muses, and Markus glances over in time to see him holding his chin in his hand in thought. “I’m sure it’s going to be challenging until you get started, but you also shouldn’t force yourself. I feel like it'll happen naturally.”

  
Markus wishes he could agree, but he's so afraid of backsliding that he isn't certain it's a good idea to wait for inspiration. It's been four months, now. He doesn’t know when he's going to wake up and have the revelation that will get his painting back into motion, but at this rate, he's afraid it could be years. He can't wait that long. His professors are already questioning his situation as it is.

  
“Hey,” Connor pulls Markus out of his thoughts with a gentle elbow to the side. Markus glances at him. “Stop that.”

  
“Stop what?” Markus cocks an eyebrow.

  
“Making that face,” Connor answers without skipping a beat. “That forlorn expression really doesn't suit you. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  
Markus looks away. “That it's not so easy as just waiting.”

  
“And why is that?” Connor presses.

  
“Because I’m going to school for art.”

  
“Have you spoken to your professors?”

  
Markus nods. “They’re all aware of my situation.”

  
“That's not what I asked.” Connor folds a hand behind his back and releases a sigh. “Have you asked them what they think you should do?”

  
“I…no, I haven't,” Markus realizes aloud.

  
Connor just smiles at him. “I think that's what you should do next, then. Your professors care about you, Markus. They might have suggestions.”

  
Markus gets the feeling those suggestions aren’t going to be much different than what North and the rest of his friends have been recommending. He's afraid of taking a break—afraid of having to learn to paint all over again. But if he can't figure out how to do so on his own, perhaps it's time to imagine a possibility wherein he does have to start all over.

  
At the very least, he could hope to make his father proud again.

  
He sighs. “Thank you, Connor.” Casting a smile in his date's direction, he turns into the cemetery gates and starts down the slushy path leading to Carl's headstone.

  
Connor doesn’t say anything. Markus glances back at him in time to see him shrug his shoulders, but for the most part, he seems relaxed. Markus can hear him following behind as they approach Carl's grave.

  
The headstone is a simple one. Carl had requested something that didn’t brag about his achievements during his life. He had wanted something minimalist at best, and as a result, Markus and Connor find themselves standing in front of a onyx-colored stone with nothing but Carl's name and lifespan engraved onto it in small letters.

  
Somehow, it's fitting.

  
Markus used to visit Carl's grave daily. He would update his father on classes and how things were going with his friends. Somehow, laughing to the memory of his father has always been easier for Markus than mourning. His mind has told him so many times that it’s a far better idea to celebrate the type of person Carl was than to despair over having lost him.

  
But right now, he feels sad. He has stopped directly in front of his father's grave, and he can vaguely see Connor in the side of his periphery, standing next to him. It’s been almost three months since Markus’ visits started to become less and less regular. He still drops by, but it's grown harder and harder to figure out what to say each time. And now, with Connor here, he feels even more lost for words.

  
Such a shame, since he had genuinely wanted for Connor to get to meet his father.

  
Connor places a hand on Markus' shoulder, drawing his attention away from his father's grave for a moment. Connor is smiling patiently. Almost as if he understands. Markus wonders if he does. Finds he wants to know why, if that’s the case.

  
“You look like you need a moment with your father,” he says calmly, before he motions to a bench about twenty feet away on the path. “I’m going to give you some space. Introduce me when you’re ready, okay?”

  
He doesn’t give Markus a chance to respond. It isn't like Markus was planning to retort or anything, but soon enough, Connor is distant enough for Markus to have his moment, and he feels strangely grateful for that fact.

  
Markus scoffs affectionately in response, before he turns his focus back to his father's grave. It seems that little bit of space is all he needed. “Did you see that?” he questions, gesturing in Connor's general direction with one hand. “He's always like that. To be completely honest, I don’t know much about him, but I know for a fact he's a good person. I’ve been spending a lot of time with him.”

  
Markus folds his hands together in front of him. “This past month has been a reminder to me about how lucky I am to have the people I have in my life. I saw Kara the other day. She misses you a lot, but she's doing well. Did you know she has a fiancé? He seems like a really nice guy. They’re planning on adopting a little girl.”

  
Markus drops to his knees and smiles at the grave, as if his father is smiling right back at him. “Leo dropped by the house. Has he been stopping by to visit you?”

  
His shoulders slump, but his smile doesn’t fade. “I’m sorry for not coming out as much as I used to. It's just…I guess I’m coming to terms with what happened. I watched you get weaker and weaker, and yet, it’s just now starting to occur to me that you’re actually gone. I came out here a while back and couldn’t say anything, because I realized…what if I’m not actually talking to you?”

  
Markus feels like now would be a good time to cry, but he can't bring himself to shed so much as a single tear. Instead, he keeps speaking, his hands resting on his knees as he attempts to see his father through that grave.

  
“I don’t believe in God. Not sure if I believe in anything like that. But I still feel like I need to come out here and talk to you. I was planning on introducing Connor to you. And maybe you can't hear me, but it feels nice to hope.”

  
Markus doesn’t come out here as often as he used to, but he finds he never has much trouble saying much of anything, despite his own confusion about what exactly he’s doing here. Especially with the encouraging presence of Connor nearby and the excitement of all the things he wants Carl to know.

  
“I’ve told you before that I’ve been having trouble painting,” he continues, drawing circles in the little patches of snow that remain in front of the grave with his fingers. “Well, North and Simon and Josh, as per usual, are amazing friends. They’ve supported me the whole way. Been there to see me break down. Shoved movies about art and inspiration down my throat. It means the world to me, Dad. But at some point along the road, I…stopped being okay.”

  
He remembers the story he told Connor on the night they met, and decides to open up about it. “You taught me everything I know. Without your words of encouragement, I feel weak. Painting doesn’t give me the same feelings anymore. There are times when I’m afraid I only painted for you.” His hand balls into a fist around a patch of snow, and water oozes from inside and out onto the ground as it melts underneath his warmth. “Because seeing you happy always made me so happy. Because you helped me find joy in art. Because you always told me what you liked about my work. Because you always smiled at me.”

  
Markus misses his father. It plagues him. Destroys his ability to see reality in its entirety. Makes him hallucinate our of pure fear of being alone.

  
“I’m not okay, Dad…” Markus admits, gritting his teeth. “I miss you. I miss you _so damned much._ But I’m getting better.” He manages a solemn smile at the headstone. “I almost gave up, and then everything shifted. There was this bar with really loud music. I didn’t want to be there, but my friends really wanted me to be. But I met someone there.”

  
He glances over to the bench, where Connor is sitting in that rigid pose, his hands in his lap and back straight. “He's a little weird, but he's done a remarkable job of keeping me grounded. Thanks to him and all my friends, I’m trying again. One day, maybe I’ll have a painting finished.”

  
Standing up, Markus waves to Connor, who gets to his feet and jogs back to his side. He curls an arm around the younger man's shoulders. “Dad, this is Connor Stern.”

  
Connor smiles awkwardly and raises a hand, waving as if Carl can see him doing so. “Hey there, Mister Manfred.”

  
“My friends had some plan worked up in their heads that night at the bar,” Markus continues, smiling down at the headstone, “having to do with this guy. He kept me company all night long, and then they paid him to be a model for me to paint. They thought I needed a change of pace—a human model to pose as I please, in whatever environment I wanted. I don’t think even they know just how much else they gave me.” He turns his head to flash a smile to Connor. If he wasn’t currently so focused on talking to his father, he might have taken more notice on the fact that Connor’s cheeks are flushed just the tiniest fraction of pink at those words.

  
“The point is,” Markus continues, “I have a really good support system, and I think I’m going to be okay. And I’m sorry for disappearing for as long as I did. I dunno if you’re actually seeing or hearing any of this, but I just want you to know that I’m sorry I’ve been falling as far as I have. And I love you, Dad. I’m gonna make you proud.”

  
He’s not ready for the warmth of Connor’s hand to find his own. He turns his gaze down to their linked fingers, and then up to Connor, who is still staring at Carl’s grave. When Connor notices he’s being watched, he laughs a little to himself and shakes his head. He doesn’t look embarrassed, though.

  
“I’m sorry. Your words just really moved me,” he explains. “I can just see how strong your relationship with your father was. I needed something to hold onto so I didn’t lose my bearings listening to it.”

  
Markus feels something like his chest tightening and fluttering and his heart skipping a beat all at the same time. And he feels even better about it, because if Carl really is somewhere around here, he gets to witness that. Gets to see just how deeply Connor cares about what’s going on his life. Gets to see how deeply Markus himself cares about having Connor in his own life.

  
That’s why he laces his fingers with Connor’s. Grips his hand tightly and gives him the grounding he claims to need. In the process, he gets to see Connor’s cheeks turn pink again, and he gets to see that face turn up and smile at him, and despite how chilly it is outside, he feels warmer than any jacket or coat or blanket could make him feel right now.

  
They don’t go straight home there. Instead, they pace through the cemetery, hands still joined, and talk. They talk about everything. Markus tells Connor story after story about learning to paint with his father—about performing in school plays with Carl watching in the audience. About every little tiny memory he can recall about Carl that brought a smile to his face. And Connor returns the stories with tales of his own. Tells Markus that he and Daniel actually became so close because they’d hooked up one night, back at the hotel they’d worked together at. Stayed friends beyond that. The thought of Connor and Daniel together amuses Markus, and Connor playfully elbows him in scolding for his laughter.

  
They talk clear through the afternoon, though, all the way into evening. Long after the sun has set and the chilly weather is edging closer and closer to just plain cold. Their hands are still intertwined. Markus can’t remember a time he’s felt this at ease in a very long time. He’s sure he can say this date has gone well. He doesn’t know what all it means for Connor, but he’s optimistic. So long as he gets to spend time with the guy, Markus doesn’t care.

  
Connor stops walking all of a sudden. They’re almost out of the cemetery—not far from Carl’s grave.

  
“Isn’t that your brother?” He questions, nodding ahead of him. Markus’ gaze locks on a figure standing in front of his father’s headstone, and Connor is right. Leo’s standing there in silence, his hands jammed into his pockets, scowling at Carl’s grave. How long has he been out here?

  
“Connor,” Markus suddenly releases the other man’s hand and digs for his wallet, “mind if I have a moment with him? I’ll buy us coffee if you’ll go get it.”

  
Connor ponders the request for a moment, but eventually nods along. “Yeah, sure thing.”

  
“Get one for Leo, too,” Markus adds, and after Connor jogs off down another path, he turns and starts toward his brother.

  
It’s been nearly a month since he last saw Leo. Following his father’s death, that’s no surprise. Leo made himself scarce after they decided to scatter Carl’s ashes. In a way, Markus doesn’t blame him. But not this time. He moves to stand beside his brother with Kara’s encouraging words fresh in his memory.

  
Leo is older than Markus by two years, but he’s shorter and skinnier. Wiry. Awkward. He looks much younger than he actually is.

  
Leo tenses, but doesn’t speak. That’s okay, though. Markus doesn’t mind taking the reins.

  
“Seems like we both had the same idea today,” he says in reference to the fact that they’re standing in front of their father’s grave. Leo doesn’t answer. “Now that the weather’s warming up, I’m gonna come out and see him more.”

  
Leo still doesn’t respond. Markus thinks he sees him tighten his shoulders a little. He sighs at the thought, and then shakes his head.

  
“I miss you, you know.”

  
Still no answer.

  
“You know you’re always welcome at my house. I don’t know what your situation is right now, but—”

  
“Don’t do this,” Leo mutters. Markus casts a glance at him. “Just let me visit my dad in peace.”

  
“Leo…”

  
“Who was that guy at the house a few weeks ago?” Despite having asked Markus to stop talking, Leo suddenly has questions. Markus frowns at him, but swallows his own pride and answers.

  
“His name’s Connor. He’s a good friend. You’d like him if you met him.”

  
“Why’d you bring him to the house?” Leo tenses visibly yet again.

  
“He wanted to hear me play piano,” Markus replies honestly. “I couldn’t get to the music room on campus, so I brought him there.”

  
Markus doesn’t know what kind of answer Leo was expecting there, but when he doesn’t speak for a while, Markus figures it wasn’t what he had been bracing for. Hopefully, that’s a good thing.

  
“Why’d you bring him to Dad’s grave?”

  
Leo must have heard them talking before they spotted him. Either way, it’s not like it’s a bad thing. Of all the random friends he’s made in the past year, Connor’s definitely an ideal one to bring to meet his father. That in mind, Markus shrugs. “I wanted to introduce them—”

  
“—you do realize he’s _dead,_ right?” Leo suddenly snaps. Markus tenses, but his brother continues. “Our dad can’t see him or hear him. You’re introducing him to a fantasy.”

  
“That’s not fair, Leo,” Markus retorts firmly. “It doesn’t matter. It’s something I felt like I needed to do.”

  
“You feel like you need to do a lot of shit,” Leo growls, turning his glare back to Markus. “Always there to run the show. Dad gets sick, you decide it’s up to you to take care of him. Dad dies, you handle the cremation and memorial service. Dad leaves all his possessions in his will for us to split up and you just can’t bear the fact that it’s not all for you, so—”

  
_“Leo,”_ Markus hisses impatiently.

  
“No!” Leo spins and faces his brother fully, eyes narrowed. “Goddamn it, Markus, it’s always been about you!”

  
Markus is a little taken aback by that argument. He knows he's no angel, but he also knows he's not the most selfish person out there. He sighs, trying to calm his nerves. “Leo, I did what I thought I had to do. You were off living your life and Dad needed someone. I tried calling you for help.”

  
“Don't pin this on me.”

  
“You know what, Leo?” Markus faces his brother fully. “I’m not pinning it all on you, but _you_ made the decision not to involve yourself. _You_ made yourself invisible. _You_ chose to let me take care of Dad and handle his memorial and cremation. I could have used the help, actually. I had to do those things on my own. Yeah, I may not have been his blood son, but I chose to do what I could for him because I love him.”

  
“You think I didn't?”

  
“I don't know, Leo!” Markus spreads his hands out to his sides. “I don’t know what to think! To me, it’s like you spent all your time since he came into your life being mad at him for something he couldn’t help. And yeah, you have a right to be angry, but you can’t expect me to distance myself from him just because you chose to.”

  
“Alright, then answer me this:” Leo takes a step closer and turns his head up, glaring daggers right into Markus’ face. “Why haven’t we split up his assets yet? We’re supposed to decide among each other who gets what, and you’ve sat with your thumb up your ass, telling me we need to wait to do so.”

  
Markus shakes his head and takes a step back from his father’s grave. He moves toward the path. It doesn’t feel right arguing right in front of his father.

“We’re doing this right now? _Really?”_

  
“Yeah, _really.”_ Leo narrows his eyes and approaches again. In seconds, he’s in Markus’ face. “Dad decided I’m entitled to half his shit too. Why can’t you let me have any of it?”

  
“You really want to know?” Markus’ hands knot into fists. He misses the warmth of Connor holding them. He feels like he’d be so much more calm and grounded with that presence nearby.

  
“Yeah, actually,” Leo spits back, “I do.”

  
Markus steels himself. “It’s because I don’t trust you with it.”

  
He doesn’t know what he expected to happen after that statement. It’s a harsh thing to say, so Leo has a right to get angry, but when his brother reels back and outright decks him, he’s shocked.

  
For his small size, Leo is surprisingly strong. The punch hits Markus square in the nose and sends him stumbling back a couple of steps. Blood instantly drips down onto the snow-patched ground, and Markus turns a surprised glance up to his brother.

  
“I haven’t used since Dad died, asshole!” Leo looks furious now, his eyes wide and teeth bared. He’s small, but he looks downright dangerous. “You think I was gonna sell his shit for drug money?”

  
“What the hell _else_ am I supposed to think?” Markus snaps back, wiping blood from his nose. “That’s all we knew about you for the past couple of years. You’d run off, go get high, come back strung out, and ask Dad for money.”

  
Leo swings again, but Markus blocks this one, catching his brother’s fist and shoving him backward with the grip.

  
“Don’t you _dare_ make excuses for yourself,” Markus warns him. He doesn’t want to fight like this, but if this is the way Leo wants to play it, it doesn’t look like he has much choice. “Accept responsibility, stay clean, and we can work on what Dad’s will said later.”

  
Leo narrows his eyes. “I get a say in this, too.”

  
“Yeah you do,” Markus sneers irritably, “but not like this. I’m serious about where Dad’s things are going. I’ve seen you for all of maybe an hour in the past four months, Leo. I don’t know what to do.”

  
“Oh, I dunno,” Leo rolls his eyes, “maybe trust me?”

  
Looking back, Markus wonders if there was ever a time when he fully trusted Leo. They’ve never had the most positive of a relationship. While Markus worked hard to keep from fighting with his brother, said brother has always been more than a little belligerent with him. And when they went to scatter Carl’s ashes on that night, it had only gotten worse.

  
“Give me a reason to,” Markus suggests calmly, and Leo storms forward and shoves him.

  
“Give me a chance to prove it.”

  
Markus wonders if Leo is picking a fight on purpose. If maybe this is just something he needs to do. They’ve both got so much pent-up rage and frustration toward one another that it would make perfect sense.

  
But Markus doesn’t want to fight. What’s the point in it? Stress relief? Can’t they talk this out? He’s mad at Leo, sure. Hurt by how selfish is brother can be. Truly wishes he had had him by his side more often. But he doesn’t want to come to blows over it.

  
“Come over,” Markus tries. “Come over and talk with me. Hear me out, and maybe we can work on something.” He relaxes a little. “You really do look like you’re clean, Leo. I believe you about that. I just…maybe I want my brother instead of the guy who just wants the other half of my dad’s stuff.”

  
“You dipshit!” Leo roars. “I _am_ your brother! Brothers fight! We don’t always get along! That’s just how it is!”

  
Leo’s right about that. Markus knows he is. But after years of trying over and over again to get into his brother’s good graces, he’s a little frustrated with the whole thing. “You never tried to get along with me,” he explains simply. The thought makes him surprisingly emotional. “You were too busy being angry that I’d had so much more time in Dad’s life to do so.”

  
“Well, why the fuck not?!” Leo’s still got his voice raised. Markus keeps on the defensive just in case. “You and Dad did everything together. You’re even following in his footsteps. I was nothing like him. I loved him…I still do, Markus. I just…where’s _my_ spot in the family?”

  
Markus frowns. Bites back actual tears. “Don’t be stupid, Leo. It’s right here. It’s _always_ been right here.” He gestures to himself.

  
The crunching of footsteps on the snow alerts Markus to Connor’s return. He pivots to face the other man and breathes a sigh of relief. He can smell the coffee from here. He really needs it after what just happened.

  
“Oh my god,” Connor jogs over, drink carrier in hand, and stops to stand in front of Markus. His eyes are wide as they scan his face. “You’re bleeding.” Not unexpectedly, he turns his head to look at Leo and instantly narrows his eyes at him.

  
“It’s okay,” Markus raises both hands in surrender. “It’s fine. We sorted it out. Leo’s going to come home with us though, okay?”

  
\--- --- --- --- ---

  
Leo’s arrival doesn’t exactly receive the warmest of welcomes. Especially not when they see Markus’ swollen nose and the dried blood on his shirt. Out of respect for him, Simon and North and Josh all keep their cool, but they don’t make any effort to be hospitable when he takes a seat on the couch. Simon and Josh head to their own rooms, and North decides to go visit Chloe.

  
But maybe that’s what Markus needs. He had told Leo they needed to talk. A little privacy is exactly what he needs. Maybe his friends sensed that, too.

  
Either way, as he makes his way into the kitchen to fix both of them some water, Connor follows him.

  
“Can I spend the night?” he questions, and when Markus closes the fridge and turns to look at him, he notices that Connor looks almost embarrassed by the request. He supposes that sort of sheepishness makes sense, considering that they both know what he’s implying. Connor wants to share a bed with Markus, and they both know Markus wants to do the same. “It’s just…been a while, you know?” There's an odd sense of relief in seeing that Markus isn't the only one who craves that companionship.

  
Markus finds he wants to reach out and curl his arms around Connor’s waist. Kiss his forehead, tell him that he’d be an idiot to refuse an offer like that. But…whatever they’ve got going is still a big gray area, so he keeps his distance for now.

  
“Of course,” he responds easily, flashing a smile in Connor’s direction. “You’re always welcome here. But for now, do you mind if I have a little privacy with Leo? We’ve, uh…we’ve got a lot to talk about.”

  
Connor nods, immediately understanding. “Yeah, absolutely.” He looks thoughtful for a moment before he takes a step forward and curls an arm around Markus’ waist, pulling him into a quick hug. “I’m here if you need someone to talk to afterward, okay?”

  
He unfurls himself from Markus’ grip, and Markus can't stop himself from reaching out toward the empty space where he used to be. Connor is so mysterious and ghostly in behavior. He's…such an enigma. Like a sweet scent Markus can’t help but follow.

  
But for now, he moves to take a seat next to Leo on the couch. He automatically realizes he doesn’t know where to start. And with the way Leo stares blankly across the living room, it’s obvious he isn't going to be much help. That thought frustrates Markus. But, looking back, Leo hadn’t wanted to come here in the first place. However, if they want to split Carl's assets, they’re eventually going to have to talk about it. That much is a fact.

  
“Listen, Leo--" Markus starts, but his brother cuts him off.

  
“Are you and that Connor guy together?”

  
The question is a little startling, and Markus honestly doesn’t know where it came from. Seeing that he has surprised his brother, Leo grins a little and scoffs.

“The dude went off to your room. Practically gave you a goodnight kiss. And he looked like he was going to kill me when he saw what I did to your nose.” A shrug follows those words. “It's not a crazy question.”

  
“Truth is,” Markus answers with a sigh, “I don’t know the answer to that, myself. We haven't known each other for long, and I don’t want to rush him into anything.”

  
“But you like him?”

  
“…Yeah,” Markus admits. “But even if our relationship never goes beyond what it is now, I’d be happy. A little under a month knowing him, and I already feel like I don’t know what life without him would be like.”

  
“You're just a hopeless romantic,” Leo scoffs. “All you artists are.” There's a look on his face that indicates he isn't trying to be hostile. Markus appreciates that more than he can say.

  
Leo leans back on the couch, tipping his head up toward the ceiling and letting his mouth fall open in a sigh. “After that night, when we scattered Dad's ashes, I planned on never speaking to you again.”

  
Understandable. The falling-out they had had that night had been awful. Harsh words were said, fists had flown, and half their father's ashes had been spilled out into a lump on the ground in the process. The air that night had been so thick and heavy and unrelenting.

  
“You and Dad were good at everything, and you did it all together.” Leo sighs again. “By the time I had come into the picture, you were both so completely content with one another that I wasn’t sure where I could even fit in.”

  
“Leo…”

  
“Think about how big this world is,” Leo continues. “Think about how many humans there are on this planet. Zoomed out on a screen, you wouldn’t be able to make out any individual dots, because there are so many of us. So many people with different skills and talents and abilities, competing against one another to be noticed.”

  
Markus frowns down at his lap as Leo continues.

  
“I spent so many years of my life hearing about my father in the news. Wondering why he didn’t bother trying to see me. Was I not good enough? Was I unwanted? Is he too busy being famous and happy to make time for me? Imagine my surprise when I finally get to meet him and learn that he already has another kid. That he had adopted some stranger and raised him for six years before even bothering to let me in.”

  
Oh.

  
_…Oh._

  
_Markus'_ heart sinks. He turns his focus to his brother, opening his mouth to speak, but Leo keeps talking.

  
“I know it isn't your fault. It never was. But I come in, and you paint like him, and you play piano like him. You’re fascinated with the arts like him. I can't so much as put a stick person on a paper. What could I possibly hope to have in common with you guys?”

  
“Leo…art isn't the only talent out there,” Markus tries, but Leo shakes his head.

  
“I know. But telling fifteen-year-old me that after wondering why my father replaced me with you, even if that wasn’t what actually happened, was easier said than done. I screwed up, Markus. Ran off and tried to escape my anger and loneliness. Found Molly and Cocaine.”

  
Leo shakes his head as he keeps speaking. “Molly isn’t addictive. It feeds on your serotonin. Once it's depleted your supply, you’re not happy or depressed or anything at all. I’d snort coke until I was so wired I couldn’t see straight, and once that wore off, I’d eat some Molly, because not feeling at all was so much better than being angry. Especially because, on some level, I always knew I was deflecting the blame. I always knew I didn’t try. But I also felt like I shouldn’t have had to try. I should have already belonged.”

  
Wow…Leo really must be clean with a speech like that. It’s the closest thing to an explanation he has ever gotten from his brother.

  
“On that night, scattering Dad's ashes,” Leo continues, “you called me ‘jealous'. It wasn't right for you to say that, but you hit the nail on the head. I’ve always been jealous of you. You got the life I’m never going to get. Twenty-six years old and I _still_ don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. You’ve got it all together. You always have.”

  
“Leo,” Markus tries, “I’m sorry I--"

  
“I didn’t know what to do with myself when Dad died. I’ve always been more selfish than you. I’m sorry I left it all up to you. But I’m clean now, and I really wanna focus on trying to remember Dad. That’s why I want to know what we're splitting.”

  
“I don’t intend to keep it all,” Markus responds honestly. “I just…didn’t know where to start, with you gone and all. Didn’t know what you would do with it if I gave it to you. It's a gift to you from Dad, you know? Not something to sell off for a fix.”

  
Leo grunts. “Okay. Okay, I get it. Look, I’ll come by more often. We don’t have to be enemies anymore. I’m so tired of being bitter. So tired of being lonely.”

  
“Then lean on your brother a little, stupid,” Markus groans, nudging Leo with his elbow.

  
“Yeah, yeah. I’m working on it.” Leo sighs. “Can I spend the night? I’ll leave first thing tomorrow.”

  
Markus just shrugs and gets up. “Of course. Just be on the lookout, because my friends kind of want to slit your throat right now.” He starts down the hallway, toward his room, but stops short. “And Leo?”

  
“Huh?”

  
“You’re not insignificant. You need to work on not comparing yourself to everyone around you. I’m no better than you for any given reason. In fact, while you’ve been getting clean, I’ve been struggling to paint ever since Dad died.”

  
Their eyes meet and Markus shrugs. “We all have our strengths and weaknesses. Remember that.” He turns and steps into his room from there. “Goodnight, Leo.”

  
When he pulls the door shut, he glances over in time to see Connor winding down for bed. He has stripped down into just his T-shirt and boxers. He looks up from what he’s doing to regard Markus. His expression is soft and solemn. Patient. Understanding.

  
Politely, Connor looks away when Markus himself starts stripping out of his day clothes. “So, why did he hit you?”

  
An understandable question. Connor’s concern for Markus warms him right down to the core. Once he’s out of his shirt, he shrugs, even though Connor isn’t looking at him. “Honestly, I don’t know the real answer to that. I’m guessing it’s just been something he’s wanted to do for a long time. But right now, I think he’s got it all out of his system.”

  
“You made peace with him?”

  
“I’m not sure yet,” Markus admits as he steps out of his pants and strides to the restroom to brush his teeth. “He did to a lot of accepting responsibility for his actions while we were talking, and he explained things to me more clearly than he ever has before.”

  
Connor waits for Markus to finish brushing his teeth before speaking again. By the time Markus has returned to the room, Connor is seated on the edge of the bed, looking up at him. “Why’s he so angry with you?”

  
Markus crawls into his side of the bed and slips beneath the covers, folding his hands behind his head. “I think there are a few reasons. I was adopted and still got more time with Dad than he did. Dad took me in when I was seven, and Leo didn’t meet him until he was fifteen. I was thirteen. On top of that, he confessed to me tonight that it always bothered him that Dad and I had so much in common and he couldn’t really relate. From there, he just…got in a bad way and distanced himself from us altogether.”

  
When the bed shifts as Connor lies down too, Markus sees that he’s frowning. “I dunno…is all of that really a good enough reason to be so hateful?”

  
“I think that’s kind of a complicated thing to ask, really,” Markus replies. “For me, I’m more patient. But ever since Dad took me in, I’ve had it pretty easy. I’ve always had him to guide me. Leo never told me what he went through before he started staying every other weekend with us, but it could’ve been pretty rough. He got to see all the news articles about Dad, and it really bothered him that there never seemed to be any effort to make contact with him. Dad was kind of cagey about it, himself, but he did tell me once that he hadn’t been allowed to see Leo.”

  
When he sees that Connor is watching him closely, he continues speaking. “To put it simply, he’s let this all build and collect and get under his skin, because he’s not exactly the most skilled at handling his feelings properly. And, the night we decided to go scatter Dad’s ashes, something happened that I think warrants some hostility.”

  
Connor already knows Markus is going to tell him, so he just turns on his side and waits.

  
“At Dad’s memorial service, the speaker was this preacher. Real nice guy, full of love, but probably not the guy who should have spoken about my father. He didn’t really know anything about him. All he knew was that he was a famous artist. So he filled in the blanks with verses from the Bible, and if we’re being honest, it bothered both Leo and I.” Markus swallows. “But Leo got up halfway through and took over. Said a bunch of things about how much he loved Dad that none of us were expecting. And then he disappeared.”

  
Connor stretches a hand out and grabs Markus’ shoulder, trying to pull him onto his side. Markus complies without protest.

  
“He called me out of the blue later on,” Markus continues, now facing Connor. “Wanted to go scatter Dad's ashes together. Maybe he felt bad about not helping with everything else. Either way, I really needed the support of my brother, so I agreed.”

  
“And it went badly?” Connor wonders. Markus watches those brown eyes glide up and down along his face. He feels warmed by that gaze.

  
“Yeah,” Markus answers. “Very badly. I don’t remember what started it, but he started asking about what parts of Dad's possessions he got, and it really rubbed me the wrong way. He's been an addict for so long that I was pissed, because I thought he was just going to sell it all for drug money.”

  
Connor winces. Yeah, that had been a pretty harsh thing for Markus to say. Carl wouldn't have been happy to hear it, either.

  
He continues speaking. “He told me I didn’t have the right to make that call since I wasn’t the blood son, and I saw red after that. I don’t remember all the things I said, but I do remember harshly telling him that he was just jealous that Dad and I had been so close.”

  
Connor winces again. “You two…”

  
Markus shrugs. “He started pushing me, so I pushed back. It was raining. We were outside over a bridge that Dad had painted a mural on, wrestling and fighting like teenagers. One of us bumped the urn his ashes were in, and it fell over and dumped half the ashes down onto the ground. And Leo...he…he panicked. Dropped down and started trying to scoop them up. He was sobbing and snotting all over himself, and all I could do was sit there and watch him. I’ll never forget any of it.”

  
Connor's hand finds his own, moving to rest atop it. “No wonder your father's passing has been so hard on you.” He scoots in close and reaches that same hand out to press his palm to Markus' chest. “But you’re working hard to fix things. It sounds like he is, too.”

  
“Yeah,” Markus smiles, “he is. He's been clean ever since, apparently.”

  
“Good.” Connor mirrors his smile, then raises his hand up to Markus’ face. His fingers just barely graze the skin around Markus' nose. It twinges pretty badly, but Markus can tell the swelling is already going down, so whatever damage Leo had done isn't permanent. “I’m proud of you both. But…no more fighting, okay?”

  
Markus' smile broadens. “Trust me, Connor. That's the goal.”

  
Connor just laughs and then scoots in closer. “I’m glad. Now, come here and sleep with me.”

  
It's like second nature at this point. Markus draws in close and lets an arm fall around Connor's waist. Dips in to rest his chin atop Connor's head. Connor falls into line against him, nuzzling into his chest. That soft brown hair tickles Markus’ skin.

  
Sleep comes easy. It always does when Connor is here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember when I first played the game and absolutely despised Leo. But then I looked up his information on the DBH wiki and now I love him almost as much as I love Gavin. Which is a lot guys. 
> 
> That said, I'm not the type of person who is gonna defend his actions, and while I aimed to give him a redemption arc in this work, it was also extremely important to me that he not be painted into some pitiful little creature who had every reason to be awful to his family. So part one of Leo Learns To Grow The Fuck Up has commenced!


	8. Grounded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that the holidays are over, hopefully my updates will happen weekly like I was planning from the beginning! Sorry to keep you all waiting! I'm super excited about this chapter, which is going to be a huge turning point in the fic. 
> 
> A quick warning for this chapter: while all the other ones are extremely heavy on the flashbacks, this one is particularly so. In my honest opinion, it's important for the progression of the story, but I know some readers don't really care for flashbacks. So my apologies in advance!
> 
> Thank you all so much for your patience! Enjoy!

_Connor moves about the world in a way that tells Markus he is constantly aware of it. He's always got his hands folded behind his back or neatly placed into his pockets as if he's lost in thought. When he observes something, he always makes it very obvious that that is what he's doing. His head cocks to one side and his lips flatten out. His brow furrows, and then when his mouth falls open, it’s almost always in realization._

_It's like he's always learning._

_What is he learning right now? Markus can't help but wonder that very question as he observes Connor from across the living room of his father's home. The house looks untouched, with all Carl's books and personal items placed neatly back on the shelves, exactly where they had been before he had passed away. Connor stands in front of a shelf near the piano, his big brown eyes darting back and forth along the many books and all their titles. His hands are folded neatly behind his back, as per usual._

_Markus moves to stand beside Connor, who withdraws a book from the shelf and runs his fingers across the front cover. Markus notices why he looks so curious about it. There’s absolutely nothing on the front. He hadn’t been looking at the spine when Connor had taken hold of it, but he can venture a guess that it’s just as barren as the front cover. Is there anything on the back?_

_Connor opens it up and flips through the pages. There are words there, but they’re illegible. The strangest part about it is that Markus doesn’t understand why. The words all seem to be in English, but by the time they reach his brain, he can’t make sense of them. To him, they look like nothing more than a jumbled mess of letters._

_A quick glance at Connor’s face tells Markus that the younger man isn’t having the same problem. His eyes trail the lines effortlessly as he reads each one._

_“What does it say?” Markus questions, unable to help himself. His voice feels strangely far away, almost as if there’s an echo of his words somewhere around him, even though he can’t pinpoint exactly where it’s coming from._

_Connor pauses, Markus assumes to finish reading a paragraph, and then marks the line he’s on with a single slender finger. He turns his gaze up to regard Markus. His stare is thoughtful…pensive. As if he’s trying to process the question being asked of him. Or maybe he’s still trying to understand whatever he’s been reading in the book._

_And then he does the thing he normally does when he realizes something. His head cocks just barely to the side and his lips fall open. His mouth shuts a few seconds later, flattening into a line, before he turns his focus back to the book. He seems to make the connection that Markus can’t read what’s on the pages._

_“Can I borrow this?” Connor finally questions, and Markus notices that his voice too sounds like it’s coming from somewhere else. He digs around in one of his pockets and pulls out what Markus thinks may be an old receipt from a store. He bookmarks the page with it and closes it._

_Markus frowns. “Of course. Is it really so good that a few lines caught your attention?”_

_“It is,” Connor responds easily, holding the book close to his chest like it’s already something he considers special. Markus wonders if he shouldn’t just give the title to him. Maybe he will if Connor still enjoys it after borrowing it. “It’s…fascinating. I want to see what else happens.”_

_“I sure don’t see why not, then.” Markus laughs softly. He wishes his voice felt nearer. This moment feels like one he could lose any minute, and he doesn’t want it to go away. “Let me know what you think when you finish it, yeah?”_

_“I will,” Connor replies, before he tucks the book under his arm. His voice grows more distant._

_No…it’s not getting further away. It’s being overpowered by something. A rushing sound. Dull and relentless, steadily growing louder. Like water. Rushing water that threatens to consume the entire living room._

_Color fades from around him. In a rapid sequence from one end of the living room to the other, everything shifts from vibrant browns and yellows and blues and greens to a crippling state of grayscale. Markus glances back over at Connor just in time to watch the honey-tea disappear from those big eyes._

_“Connor?” Markus tries, and Connor shakes his head. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words never reach Markus’ ears. It’s just that roar, growing louder and more omnipresent. Any minute now, and it’s going to consume him—_

_\--- --- --- --- ---_

_—Markus sits bolt upright in his bed as thunder rumbles around him. He’s shaking, and he can feel the tinge of cool swelling around the moisture of sweat beading at his forehead. His eyes are wide as they dance about the room, taking in the scenery._

_Perhaps eight years old is a bit too grown for Markus to still be afraid of storms, but he is. It isn’t the thunder, though. Markus rather likes the sound of thunder, and the harsh way lightning can illuminate an entire area. No…it’s the rain. The thick droplets of water that violently pelt the window nearest his bed. They sound like rocks on the glass, and Markus is afraid that any minute, that window might give way, shatter, and let the rain in._

_He scoots back against the headboard and pulls his knees up, wrapping his arms around them. An eight-year-old Markus Manfred begins to cry. He’s not ready to die. The rain seems to choose then to come down harder, and a glance at the window frightens Markus into a high-pitched, wailing scream. The water rushes down across the glass in sheets, like quivering fingers. Their victim is just a yard or so away. They can’t wait to have Markus in their grasp._

_He screams again and buries his face in his knees._

_“Markus?”_

_Markus doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting like that. Frankly, he’s just been hoping he could wait out the storm and go back to sleep when the rain stops, but clearly, that’s not going to happen anytime soon. Thankfully, Carl has overheard his outburst and decided to show up._

_The boy looks up from his spot on his bed, his tear-stained eyes locking onto the worried gaze of his adoptive father. Markus has only been living with Carl for a year, but he already knows this man is going to be his father forever. Carl has been incredibly good to him, and for a young child, that means everything. He remembers nothing about his life before foster care, so this man is just about all he can cling to for a grip on reality._

_That’s why, when Carl strides in and takes a seat on the edge of Markus’ bed, the boy scoots over and allows him more room. He doesn’t want Carl to leave. Not until the rain stops. Not until he knows he’s safe._

_“Hey…what’s wrong?” Carl questions, sliding an arm around his son’s shoulders. Markus sniffles and leans against him, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “Is it the storm?”_

_“I don’t like rain,” Markus admits outright. He’s got no reason to lie. After all, Carl sees him crying. It’d be pointless to try and act tough now. Despite that, he doesn’t have the heart to try and explain why. Even in the mind of a young boy, he can see how irrational a fear of water on the glass of a window might seem._

_Carl frowns for the briefest of moments, before he shakes his head and smiles. “That’s okay. Nature can be pretty scary sometimes, huh?” He looks about the room for a moment, before he shimmies down into a lying position on the bed. “Sometimes, it frightens me too. So tell you what: keep me company for a little while, and when the rain passes, I’ll let you have your bed back. Okay?”_

_Markus hesitates, before a big smile spreads across his lips. “Okay!”_

_Soon, they’re both curled up in Markus' bed. Carl has a single arm wrapped around Markus, while he is turned to face his father, scooted up impossibly close to his side. He can almost shut out the rain if he focuses on the fact that he's not alone._

_He opens his eyes to look up at Carl, but when the only thing looking back down at him is a faceless silhouette, he screams and throws himself back. He collapses right off the edge of the bed, and his blood turns to ice when he lands in water. A glance around him tells him the rain is somehow getting in._

_Markus turns a horrified stare up toward the window, but while it's covered in rainwater on the outside, the inside is completely dry. He glances to the door, and there it is. Thick, rushing waves of water, defying gravity, somehow having made their way up the stairs and flooding his room._

_“Carl!” He wails as he stands up and the water climbs past his knees. But the figure on the bed is frozen the way Markus had left him. Even as water seeps up and over the mattress and covers him, Carl does not move._

_No…no! Markus is all alone again. He's going to die, right here in this room. He's going to drown._

_The water overcomes the young boy completely, having filled the entire room, and Markus finds himself surrendering, just floating there beneath the icy cold water. A single fish flutters past him in the water. He spins and follows its path with his own eyes._

_The entire house shakes._

_The window shatters, and Markus is sucked through the current like a vortex._

_\--- --- --- --- ---_

Consciousness comes to Markus hand-in-hand with a loud clap of thunder. He's calm and hasn’t moved from his lying position on his bed, but he can feel his heart pounding. His body is trembling. He's definitely a little shaken up.

What the hell kind of dream was _that_?

Markus has been having strange dreams lately, yeah, but that one was different. While the others were frightening in their own ways, this one was just…outright horrifying. Markus hasn’t had a nightmare like that in a long time.

“…Are you okay?”

A glance down reminds Markus that Connor had spend the night again last night. The two have been nothing short of inseparable since the start of spring break, but Connor had stayed last night mostly because of the weather. The weather and news had teamed up to warn Detroit citizens to be careful over the next couple of days, as the impending storm promised sixty mile an hour winds and the potential for severe weather.

Markus had absolutely suggested Connor just stay with them (to which Daniel texted Markus with an ‘okay, I guess I’ll go fuck myself then', which resulted in him staying over too), and he and Connor had absolutely shared his bed again the previous night.

Markus frowns down at that concerned stare. Lightning flashes, and even Mother Nature can't obscure the beauty that is one Connor Stern. He's got a single hand on Markus' chest, his slender fingers splayed out across the skin there.

“I’m alright,” Markus finally answers, flashing a smile down at Connor, whose worried expression twists into a smile of his own.

“I’m glad. You were shaking, but every now and then, you would smile. I was afraid to wake you in case you were actually having a good dream.”

Markus can't help but laugh there. He brings the hand around Connor's waist up to brush some of that soft hair out of his pale face. “You’re thoughtful to a fault,” he teases.

Connor pouts. “I don’t see you complaining.”

“Absolutely not,” Markus jabs back.

The two fall silent there, Connor staring up at Markus and Markus getting lost in the honey tea of those eyes all over again, before Connor tips his head to the side in curiosity. “What were you dreaming about?”

Markus finds himself wondering that exact same question. Most of his dreams have been memories turned into nightmares, but Connor was in this one. Connor has only been to Carl’s house once, and when they were there, they didn’t…that didn’t happen. Connor had looked at some of the books, but he hadn’t borrowed one. And Markus sure as hell doesn’t remember any book on the shelves that was unintelligible like the one Connor had been looking at in his dream. Not to mention the fact that most of the books Markus had seen in the dream are actually sitting in storage right now.

He does recall the memory from his childhood, though. The fear of rain. Carl coming in and comforting him. He remembers that one. He doesn’t think he remembered it up until now…as if it had been repressed or something…but it’s definitely come back to him now.

“It’s hard to explain,” Markus answers, moving to sit up. He runs a hand across the top of his head and scratches at the back of his neck in thought. “It kind of feels like I’m remembering things. But it’s also like there’s something else I don’t…I can’t quite put words to.” Like his own mind is trying to tell him something. He can’t bring himself to say that out loud—it sounds too crazy.

But then again, what about his life _hasn’t_ been crazy lately? Leo coming back into the mix with the intention of fixing things, the jagged array of strange memories and hallucinations that have haunted Markus for the past couple of months, basically Connor’s entire role in his life…none of it makes much sense.

“Remembering things?” Connor repeats curiously. Unlike Markus, he doesn’t move from his position lying down on the bed. Instead, he folds his hand under his head and watches Markus carefully. “Like what?”

“Nothing in particular,” Markus replies, looking about the darkness of the room. His eyes are starting to adjust to the darkness that fills the bedroom when the lightning isn’t flashing. The thunder is oddly soothing to him right now. “Childhood memories, the past with my father, the night you and I met—”

“Wait…” Markus doesn’t even have to look at Connor to know he’s frowning. “You don’t remember that night?”

“Not all of it,” Markus admits. “But it’s been coming to me in my dreams, bit by bit.” He turns his head down and flashes a warm smile to Connor. “You could tell me the rest, though—”

He freezes when something catches the corner of his vision. He doesn’t know what it is, but before he can even fully see it, it frightens him. He feels his own eyes blow wide open as he turns his head to get a better look, and instantly, he feels like jumping out of his bed and running.

In the doorway stands his younger self. The very version of himself he had remembered in his most recent dream. He’s soaked to the bone, dripping water from his face and his hands and his waterlogged clothes. His blue and green eyes shine brightly in the darkness, wide and fearful. He doesn’t move, though. He just stands there in the doorway, his hands at his sides, watching Markus in the bed.

Markus doesn’t know what to do. He’s hallucinated rain before, and he’s had images of a dying fish on the ground pop up in his mind in broad daylight. He’s convinced himself he screwed up a picture with a line that never once reached paper, but this…this is on a totally different level, and it’s _scaring the living hell out of him._

“Markus?”

Connor’s voice feels distant, and for a split second, Markus wonders if he’s still dreaming. Any minute now, the rushing sound is going to suck the color out of the world around him. He’s going to glance over and Connor’s going to be gone. It’s just going to be him in his bed with the rain pounding against the glass, and that damned _fish_ is going to show up, flopping around and dying right in front of him and—

“Markus!”

With a gasp, Markus returns to reality. Even the storm raging outside seems to quiet in the wake of the alarm in Connor’s voice. Markus notices the boy in the doorway is gone, and the color is still very much noticeable even in the darkness of the bedroom. He turns to regard Connor again, and breathes a sigh of relief when he still sees the brown in those eyes gleaming around the flashing lightning.

Thunder rumbles again, and Markus calms down.

“What the hell, Markus!?” Connor, who is sitting up now, shoves him, and Markus notices he looks genuinely worried.

“I’m sorry,” he stammers out quickly. “I don’t know what happened. I just…”

“Just _what?_ ” Connor demands uneasily. “You looked like you were going to start screaming any minute. I wasn’t sure what to do.”

“I’m okay,” Markus reassures, turning his entire body to face Connor again. “I’m fine, I promise. I just…”

Connor doesn’t say it this time, but he looks like he wants to push for an answer again. For the first time since the two met, he’s genuinely glaring at Markus, and the sight tugs at every single one of Markus’ heartstrings.

He urges his friend back down onto the bed and moves to lie down with him. “I swear I’m fine, Connor.”

Connor doesn’t look so convinced, but he concedes defeat there. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Markus responds, though he can’t stop himself from casting a glance in the direction of that doorway again. He doesn’t remember leaving the bedroom door open, and after the racket he and Connor just caused, he wonders if anyone else overheard.

But for now, he pushes the thought away and pulls Connor in close again. “Can we just go to sleep?”

Connor calms himself with a long sigh, before he moves to press himself up against Markus’ chest as per usual. “Yeah…Yeah, okay. I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

\--- --- --- --- ---

Markus tells himself he’ll be alright. That things will get better from there, like they always do. He’s hallucinated before, after all, and things have turned out okay. He’s a little broken right now, and it’s all part of the grief process. He has to remind himself that his father’s only been dead for a quarter of a year.

But he doesn’t feel better. He wakes the next morning feeling tired, like his limbs are made of stone, and Connor has to talk him out of bed. He takes such a long shower that North and Connor both threaten to hop in with him if he doesn’t hurry up. And when he finally emerges into the living room, Simon tells him point blank that he looks ‘like shit’.

It’s strange. He doesn’t feel like shit. He just feels tired. He feels like he didn’t sleep a wink last night, even though he knew his slumber had only been briefly interrupted and the rest of the night had been spent engulfed in the pleasant warmth that was Connor Stern pressed up against him.

It’s almost like something’s making him tired.

He hallucinates again three times that day. The first two are nothing he isn’t used to. That dying fish in the kitchen sink, and again on the patio when he steps out for some fresh air.

But the third has him rigid with fear all over again.

It happens when he’s watching a movie with everyone. The storm is still raging outside, so they’re all confined to the apartment again. They’re all gathered around all the living room furniture, Connor and Markus on the floor in front of the couch, with North taking her usual spot on the armchair, and Simon, Josh, and Daniel on the couch.

The boy comes back. He shows up in the corner of Markus’ eye once more, standing right next to the television, and Markus doesn’t even realize he freezes at the sight until everyone else around him is reacting. He doesn’t know how much time passes between catching sight of that boy and snapping back to reality, but when he returns to the present, everyone is gaping at him.

North has dropped to the ground on Markus’ other side, one hand tightly gripping his shoulder. She looks almost as angry as Connor did last night.

“Jesus fucking Christ, I thought you were going to pass out!” She exclaims, and Markus catches himself glancing between both her and Connor.

“Guys, I’m okay—”

“Bullshit,” Daniel snarls from behind him on the couch. “We hollered at your ass like six times and you didn’t respond. What the hell happened?”

“I don’t know—”

“You’re so pale,” North observes, raising a hand to his forehead. “God, you look like you’re gonna be sick.”

They all want explanations. Connor definitely does after witnessing this twice. But Markus doesn’t know how to describe it without sounding crazy. Lucky for him, Simon is both incredibly intelligent and a very good friend and happens to choose then to speak up.

“Does this have anything to do with what you we talked about at the trampoline park?” He questions, and Markus hates how quickly he’s hit the nail on the head. He nods timidly.

“Remember how I suggested therapy?” Simon continues.

“Wait…what did you guys talk about?” Josh wonders aloud from next to Simon.

“Markus has been hallucinating,” Simon answers, and Markus glares at him.

“What the _hell_?” He barks at his friend, and Simon narrows his eyes in response.

“You know what, Markus?” He snaps back. “ _No_. We’re your friends. We’re worried about you. For the love of god, go get some damned help.”

Markus’ shoulders slump. Up until last night, this hadn’t been near as much a problem as he’d thought it was. Yeah, he’d been seeing things intermittently, but he had tried hard to keep them to himself. He hadn’t wanted to worry his friends, and he hadn’t wanted to need help. His father had asked him to be _strong_ , and he’s been doing the very opposite of that. He can’t even keep his own _mind_ in check.

The worst part is, he doesn’t understand why he keeps seeing a borderline drowned version of his younger self. A dying fish. Flashbacks from memories popping up almost every time he sleeps. What is his mind trying to tell him? Why does it all have to come in fucking _metaphors?_

_“Where are you walking, Markus? Is it toward something? Or away from something?”_

Another hand finds Markus’ shoulder, and Markus glances up to see that Josh has reached down to touch him. His friend is smiling.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Josh explains calmly. “But we see it. Sometimes, you’ll space out and get all mopey without even knowing it. Other times, you act a little strangely. This time, you might have scared the crap out of all of us, but we all know that you’re not crazy. Your _dad_ died, Markus. We all know how close you were to him. You can’t expect to recover from that alone.”

Next to Markus, North smiles. “He’s right. You’ve got all of us, but maybe it’s time you looked into some outside help, as well. You think strength is in recovering all on your own, without turning to anyone else, but maybe strength is also learning to reach out.”

“I dunno what the fuck just happened,” Daniel admits nearby, “but if you’re reluctant to tell us about it, maybe you should tell someone else. Get your shit sorted out, and then you can be all high and mighty.”

Markus feels the warmth of Connor’s hand closing over his own. He hasn’t spoken this entire time. “ _Please?_ ”

Markus sighs. “…It wasn’t this bad until last night. I was fine until…Jesus, guys. I’m just having a lot of nightmares lately. I don’t know where to begin explaining it, to you or to a therapist. I…okay, fine. I’ll make an appointment.”

\--- --- --- --- ---

In retrospect, Markus figures he should be grateful that his friends are as persistent as they are. They had all ganged up on him at once to convince him to finally get out and see a therapist. Markus, had he somehow managed to avoid making his most recent string of hallucinations obvious, would have probably continued to suffer alone. Hell, maybe he would have gotten worse.

Maybe he _is_ worse, now. Maybe he shouldn’t have been discounting the severity of what has been happening all this time. He honestly doesn’t know what to think about the whole thing.

Except for the fact that he's extremely nervous, now. North, being as persistent and unwavering as she is, has managed to find him a mental health clinic with openings for the very next day. Storms are still raging throughout Detroit, but after Connor promises to accompany him on the bus there, he agrees to go.

Now, he's sitting in the lobby of the clinic, scrolling endlessly through his phone. He's not really paying attention to anything. There's a video of a dog unboxing a child's Christmas present for her, which is kind of cute, and a few funny posts that he scrolls through as well. But his mind is on anything besides the contents of the posts on his phone. He’s wracked with anticipation, because he has no idea what to expect.

Connor places a hand on his thigh and he damn near jumps out of his skin. Connor laughs a little, and then faces Markus with a soft smile stretched across his lips.

“Is this your first time seeing a therapist?” he questions.

“Yeah,” Markus responds, his throat dry. “I’ve been lucky. I always had my dad to help me figure things out.”

“I’m just glad you agreed to come,” Connor replies. “I used to hate coming here.”

“You’ve been to therapy?”

Connor nods. “Before I was adopted, my mother and father didn't get along. I don't remember most of the details, but they fought a lot around me. I would get scared and hide in my closet until they calmed down. When I was three, my father left and my mother remarried. She put me up for adoption and decided to start her life over.”

Markus swallows down nervousness. He had no idea what had happened to Connor. At least, until now.

Connor continues easily. “When Mom adopted me, she didn't want to take any chances at raising a broken son, so she put me in therapy right away. I talked to a nice lady, but she always wanted me to tell her about my old parents when I wanted to focus on my new ones. I wasn’t broken, but Mom wanted to make sure, so she forced me to see the nice lady for almost an entire year.”

Connor smiles up at Markus there. “My therapist seemed to think I was fine too, so she and I talked about other things. Like television shows and what I wanted to be when I grew up. I—"

“Markus Manfred?”

The voice is velvety and smooth and Markus realizes instantly that he recognizes it. He turns his head to acknowledge it and his eyes snap wide open in realization—

_“Hello, Markus.”_

_The foster home had told Markus he would be meeting a doctor. They had told him she was very nice and very pretty, and she is definitely both. Her eyes are so dark they almost look black, and she sports a very pretty dress with black slacks underneath. She has a polite smile, and Markus thinks that even though she has her head shaved, she looks prettier than half the girls out there._

_“Take a seat, okay? We're going to talk about a few things.”_

_Markus doesn't understand it, but the instant he lays eyes on her, he feels like he has known her forever. Either way, he obeys and takes a seat. There are a few, and the nice woman doesn’t seem to care which, so Markus takes the one furthest from the window and closest to her desk._

_“This doesn't look like a doctor's office,” Markus wonders aloud._

_“It isn’t supposed to,” the woman answers as she clicks around on her computer for a few moments, before turning her focus back to Markus. She moves away from her desk and then stops to crouch in front of the chair Markus is sitting at. She has a beautiful smile. “My name is—”_

“—Lucy.”

“You remember me,” the aforementioned Lucy observes, dark eyes seeming to grow warmer, there.

Markus and Connor exchange glances, and it’s then that Markus remembers he told Connor he had never seen a therapist before. In his own memory, he hadn’t. But apparently, he’s got a lot more to remember than he had initially thought. Connor frowns, but seems to understand.

“You can tell me about it later if you want,” Connor joins in with a smile. He then nods in Lucy’s direction. “Go to your appointment, first.”

“…You’re not coming with me?”

“It’s better if you two talk privately,” Connor answers simply. “If you want to tell me about it later, though, I’m all ears.”

Markus knows he’s got a good point, and Lucy seems to agree with him. She turns a fond smile to him, her hands resting in front of her with a clipboard in them. “You’ve grown a great deal, Connor.”

“And you haven’t aged a bit,” Connor replies warmly.

“Lucy was your therapist?” Markus realizes aloud, and Connor shrugs.

“I may have suggested her to North when she was looking for clinics. She was good to me, and apparently, she was good to you in the past.”

Lucy just smiles. “Let’s go get started, okay?”

Markus casts a glance in Connor’s direction, before he nods and follows Lucy down the hallway. He’s directed into a small office, and he immediately notices it isn’t the same one from his memory. This one is smaller, and the window that looks out onto the streets of Detroit isn’t as big. There are a few chairs all lined up next to one another, and Lucy’s desk faces the window. She does the same thing she did when Markus was a child—welcomes him inside, tells him to have a seat.

“You’ve got good friends,” Lucy starts calmly as she types a few numbers into her computer and stands back up. “The girl who called herself North said they pretty much had to drag you in here.”

Markus sighs. “She’s not wrong.” He looks away, toward the window for a moment, before he turns back to face Lucy. “…Why didn’t I remember you?”

Lucy ponders that very question for a few long moments. “That's a good question to start with, Markus. I’m afraid I can't be sure until I ask a few, myself. Is that alright?” When Markus nods, Lucy moves to stand in front of her desk, leaning back against it. “alright. For starters, when did you remember me?”

“Just now,” Markus replies honestly, “when I heard your voice outside in the lobby.”

“Alright,” Lucy nods, “so how much about me do you remember?”

Markus shakes his head. “Not much. I remember you introducing yourself to me. I remember a different room. This isn't the same room you spoke with me in last time.”

“That's true,” Lucy agrees. “But you were six years old back then. How old are you, now?”

“Twenty-four,” Markus responds.

“…It's really been eighteen years since then.” Lucy looks awed by that realization. “The time sure flies, Markus. You were one of my first clients.”

“…Was I?” Markus questions, genuinely surprised. “I don't remember much about it, but you definitely didn’t give off the newbie vibe back then.”

Lucy laughs. “You were six. A very confused person even for your age, too. Maybe you were too preoccupied to notice.”

“Everyone has to start somewhere.”

Lucy doesn’t stop smiling. “Wise words, Markus. I see you’ve grown into a very intelligent young man.” Her expression grows serious. “Do you remember why you were here all those years ago?”

Markus' frown deepens. “I don’t. I remember my foster family informing me that I would need to see a doctor. I remember meeting you. That's all I’ve got.”

Lucy delves deep into her own thoughts there, before she speaks again. “And why are you here today?”

Markus scowls. This is the reason he didn’t want to see a therapist. What he's about to say is going to sound so strange that even he himself is going to feel weird about it the instant he speaks it. But he knows his friends are all worried about him, and the last thing he wants to do is spend the rest of his life hallucinating and having nightmares.

“My father passed away just shy of four months ago,” Markus finally answers. “And ever since then, I’ve been hallucinating.”

Lucy is silent for several moments, but she eventually crosses her arms over her chest. “Okay. Let's start with me telling you that you aren’t obligated to answer any or all of my questions. But I’m going to ask them anyway. The more I know, the better I can help you.”

Markus nods.

Lucy mirrors the nod. “What have you been hallucinating?”

Markus spares no detail. He finds it surprisingly easy to tell her about the fish, and about the memories that have come flooding back to him in his dreams. He even tells her about how broken his memory of meeting Connor had been, and he goes so far as to inform her that he had initially blamed his lack of recollection of that night on the alcohol, but that he isn't sure anymore. That his grip on reality is shaky at best.

Lastly, he opens up about the past two nights. About the younger version of himself that has been watching him.

When the room falls silent again, Lucy makes her way back to her desk. Markus watches with anticipation as she clicks away on her computer. The printer nearby hums for a few seconds, before spitting out a small stack of paper. Lucy straightens the sheets out and then staples them together, laying them out on the desk.

“Eighteen years ago,” Lucy finally says, folding her arms atop her desk, “you visited me weekly over the course of six months. You were a young boy who had lost both his parents less than a month before visiting me for the first time. You came in with no memory of what had happened, but your foster family claimed you would have random fits of anxiety. Knowing what had happened to you, they brought you to me for help.”

She lets out a long sigh. “I’m going to preface this by saying that the diagnosis I gave you is extremely controversial in the world of psychology, and that there is little proof that such a diagnosis actually exists. But back then, I couldn’t think of what else it could be.”

Markus thinks about her words deeply for a few moments. To this day, he has no recollection of what happened before he was adopted by Carl. He's as lost as Lucy sounds. He also notices Lucy doesn’t come out with what happened to him. She’s probably not going to until he asks. He appreciates that.

Lucy continues speaking. “I told them I had reason to suspect you were suffering from something called dissociative amnesia. It's a phenomenon that supposedly occurs when a child suffers something extremely traumatic and their brain blocks the memory of what happened to avoid suffering. I told your foster parents that you would likely endure this phenomenon your entire life. That it was up to them whether or not to tell you what happened."

She slides the papers she printed out across the desk, putting them within Markus’ reach. “My guess is that they didn’t. I’m not certain whether they told your father, either. But while you may not realize it, it seems your mind wants to remember. The memories may be disjointed and unclear for the rest of your life, or they may come back crystal clear one day. In these papers is your chart. Your diagnosis, and everything your parents told me about you and your past.”

Markus stares at the papers, unsure if he wants to pick them up or not.

“Whether or not you look at it is your choice,” Lucy continues. “Reading the file may not affect you as harshly as either of us think, or it may send you spiraling into confusion and depression. It may be just the enlightenment you need. There's no telling what will happen. But in my opinion, you need the clarity. You need to let your mind put the pieces together.”

Markus tries to swallow down nervousness. “If you’re wrong, what happens next?”

Lucy shrugs. “I accept responsibility and do my best to help you cope. But you’ve got a strong circle of friends. You’ve got quite the support system in them. You’ve just got to be willing to put your faith in them and be ready to learn to walk on your own two legs after you’re back on your feet.”

Markus stares down at the ground. “What if I don’t look at the papers? Will the hallucinating ever stop?”

“Most likely,” Lucy replies. “Though when exactly is beyond my knowledge. You may wake up tomorrow and never see another fish or version of yourself again. It may haunt you clear into old age. Everyone's mind works differently, so I can't predict that for you.” She sighs and rests her hands in front of her abdomen. “What I can do is have you take all the time you need to decide what you’re going to do. And when you do decide, we will set up an appointment and discuss the results.”

She moves to stand in front of Markus, crouching before him so that she can place a hand atop his own. “Inside that chart lies a backstory you currently have no memory of. Reading it won't guarantee closure. You may look it over and feel like you’re reading about someone else entirely. Or you may find the answers you need. Knowing may very well stop your hallucinations. But in the end, the bigger problem rests with the fact that this didn’t start until after your father passed away. It may be time to accept that there's more to it than a simple case of repressed memory.”

Markus frowns, but keeps listening as she continues to speak.

“You lost both of your parents. And now you’ve lost a father. Letting go isn’t on your list of strong points. The first time you had to, you closed your mind off entirely. This time, you’re doing the opposite. Your memories are all swirling around you, and I think you want to remember it all. I feel like that file could be just the therapy you need.”

Markus watches Lucy step away once more, and then he leans forward and picks up the chart. At the very top of the first page is his full name: _Markus A. Trent._ The surname doesn’t register anything in his mind. After scanning past the date of birth and social security number, Markus folds the papers in half and rests them in his lap.

“…So…that’s it?” Markus swallows and moves to stand up, clutching the papers in his hands. “No more questions?”

Lucy chuckles and turns her focus out the window. “I’m not Doctor Phil, Markus. I’m here to help you, but I’m not a miracle worker.” She returns her gaze to him, smiling warmly. “In the end, I’m nothing more than an educated guide. I can spew eighteen years of experience and countless years of education at you, but in the end, it’s you who’s in control. Even seeing a therapist, you’ve got to be willing to work hard, yourself. But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

In a way, Markus figures he did. Or at the very least, he can’t see any other reason to be standing in this office right now. He’s got homework to do…a decision to make. He’s not sure what to do just yet, but at the very least, he has some more information. For that reason, he’s glad he came in today.

“Thank you, Lucy,” He tells her, smiling fondly. “I’ll do my best.”

“Of course, that’s what I’m here for.” Lucy folds her hands behind her back and shoots Markus a stern look that eerily reminds him Connor. “I mean it, Markus. Let me know what you decide to do. I’m here to help, alright?”

“I promise I will,” Markus responds, almost as a knee-jerk reaction. He finds that, staring into those stern eyes, he doesn’t want to disappoint Lucy. “You’ll be the first person I call.”

\--- --- --- --- ---

_“This is what you wanted to show me?” Markus looks around the park. The snow is coming down more heavily now, but he can still see clearly around him. The buzz of the vodka in his system is starting to wear off, but he still feels strangely warm._

_“Don’t sound so bored,” Connor huffs, and Markus can’t help but laugh at that. “It’s not so much that I wanted you to see it as…I wanted to share it with you.” His hands find his pockets there and he gazes around the park. Markus doesn’t have to follow that gaze to know when brown eyes settle on the merry-go-round or the see-saw or the swings. The hamburger jail that looks so out of place without all its other McDonald’s brethren surrounding it anymore._

_“I spent a lot of the past two years just walking around the city,” Connor continues, and Markus notices that he’s honed in on the hamburger jail. Oh god. “Exploring. As a child, I was pretty heavily confined to classes and studies and extracurricular things. Mom was busy outside of that, so I never really got the time to do this kind of thing at a young age. That said…”_

_Not surprisingly, he starts toward the very jail Markus had expected him to. “C’mon.”_

_It looks a lot smaller than Markus remembered from his own childhood. There’s a tiny tube that extends up from the ground, probably four feet or so, and leads up into a round prison shaped like the head of a cartoon hamburger. Where all the condiments would be are instead an open area, blocked off only by bars. It looks like a circular jail. Quite literally, hamburger jail._

_They approach and Connor drops onto his hands and knees at the entrance to the tube. Markus outright laughs. “I’m not going in there.”_

_“Yes, you are,” Connor insists without missing a beat. Markus watches him arch his back and curl like a slender lizard, slithering his way up into the tube. He reappears inside the mouth of hamburger jail, peering out at Markus through the bars. “Get in here.”_

_“Absolutely not.”_

_Connor grins and wraps his hands around two of the bars. He tips his head. “Don’t be a fuddy-duddy.”_

_“Did you seriously just call me a fuddy-duddy?” Markus wrinkles his nose._

_“Get in here.”_

_“No.”_

_“Markus!”_

_“I’ll get stuck. I don’t know how you even managed to get in there.”_

_“Because I have faith.”_

_Markus raises both eyebrows. “Faith can’t bend steel, Connor. I’m bigger than you.”_

_“Markus Manfred,” Connor scowls, “get your ass in here, this instant!”_

_Markus is fully prepared to keep insisting that no, under no circumstances is he climbing into a hamburger jail meant for kids less than half his size. No way, no how. Not a chance in hell. It’s physically and logically impossible._

_But then, Connor pouts, and Markus realizes he’s going to get what he wants._

_It really does take some effort, and only after making a hilarious display of bending and twisting and grunting and pulling does Markus manage to heft himself up into the metal hamburger jail. By the time he gets there, Connor is wiping laughter-induced tears from his eyes._

_“You actually did it!”_

_Markus, somewhat exhausted, shuffles over to lean his back against the bars. He’s comically hunched over, his head threatening to hit the ceiling. He narrows his eyes over at Connor. “Only because you’re too persistent for either of us.”_

_“It got you in here, so I’m not complaining.”_

_Markus laughs nervously. “I’m not sure if I’m going to get back out.”_

_Connor shakes his head. “You’re dramatic.” He shifts until he’s lying on his stomach then, and Markus feels compelled to follow suit. It does happen to be a little more comfortable than how he had been sitting all cramped up against the bars. He watches Connor stick a hand out between the bars, palm up. His expression becomes solemn so quickly that Markus wonders if he has whiplash._

_“In here, you can sit and watch all the other kids run around and play,” Connor starts, “but you can’t just climb through the bars and join them. However, at least you can watch the snow.”_

_Markus frowns, but he can’t bring himself to say anything. Connor looks like he’s stuck in his own world. Like what he’s saying is not necessarily directed toward Markus, but to himself as well._

_“It’s pretty, though. You get that much. And you can take joy in the fact that the other kids are still playing.” Connor goes silent after that, just staring through the bars at the snow as it collects on the ground around them. But after nearly a minute of silence, he grins Markus’ way. “And hey, you don’t have to worry about getting snowed on.”_

_“The way you’re talking,” Markus can’t help himself, “you’re starting to sound like you don’t think you’re getting out of hamburger jail, either.”_

_Connor shoves him, and he laughs. “I didn’t interrupt your emotional moment earlier!”_

_\--- --- --- --- ---_

Markus wakes alone in his bed. After visiting Lucy, he had promptly come home and decided he’d needed a nap. Now that he’s awake, he finds himself thankful that what his mind chose to have him dream about this time was more pleasant. He’s smiling to himself as he recalls what happened. Connor had toured him around the entire park, basically reliving a childhood Markus gets the feeling he didn’t get to enjoy, and then they had returned to the bar so that Markus could retire home and be prepared for the lack of sleep he was going to get before class.

But before they had left…

“You’re awake.”

Connor is sitting in the chair at Markus’ desk, and when Markus hones in on him, he sees that the younger man has been focused on making a pyramid out of all the paint bottles he’s still got scattered across the desk.

“What’re you doing?” Markus questions as he sits up. He feels a little more rested. Perhaps that’s all he needed—a quick nap and a good dream.

“I _was_ organizing,” Connor answers as he returns his attention to the task at hand. “But then I got distracted. You’ve got a lot of paints, and I wanted to see how tall I could stack them.”

“That’s what you’ve been doing all this time?” Markus can’t help but laugh.

“I said I _started out_ organizing.” Connor sounds so defensive, just like he had in the hamburger jail. It’s almost as if that piece of Markus’ memory returning has triggered that part of his personality. Or maybe it’s always been there, and Markus just hasn’t noticed. Either way, it warms him right down to the pit of his stomach.

He really, _really_ likes that Connor decided to present himself into his life.

“Also,” Connor comments offhandedly as Markus climbs out of bed, “I wanted to give you a challenge for when you do start painting.” He smiles coyly. “Imagine your surprise when the color you need happens to be at the very bottom of the pyramid.”

This is such a breath of fresh air in comparison to how things had been the previous night. Markus had scared Connor straight into anger. Now, they’re talking as easily as if nothing has happened. He wonders if Lucy is on to something in suggesting he look over his chart.

“You never told me how your appointment went,” Connor suddenly observes, as if reading Markus’ mind. He turns his focus away from the pyramid and faces Markus fully. “I’ve been a little worried that it didn’t go too well.”

“It went alright, actually,” Markus answers, though he can’t blame Connor for being concerned. Once he’d stepped out, he’d realized how tired he was, insisted they go straight home, stripped down and changed into sweatpants and a tee shirt, and went right to bed. “I was just tired. I guess the stuff that happened…it must have worn me out a lot more than I’d expected.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Connor questions, his hands in his lap. Markus notices a couple of streaks of blue paint on his fingertips, but doesn’t bring it up. “You don’t have to. I just—”

“—It’s okay,” Markus shakes his head. “Connor, I’m fine. You’re amazing for worrying about me, but Lucy gave me hope. She gave me _that_.” He gestures to the papers folded up, sitting on his bedside table. “It’s got some things from my childhood in it that I might read over. She thinks I’ve repressed my memories from before I got adopted.”

“Do _you_?” Connor wonders.

“I don’t know what else it could be,” he admits in response. “I had a dream last night about my younger self. It wasn’t long after Carl adopted me. I was terrified of rain. When I woke up, that same version of me…I saw him in the doorway. He was just…watching me. All covered in water. It scared the hell out of me.”

Connor sighs. “I could tell. I’m just glad you listened to us about getting help. What’d she do for you?”

“She gave me my chart,” Markus replies with a shrug. “Told me I didn’t have to read it if I didn’t want to, but that it was possible looking it over might be just what I need to stop hallucinating. She thinks it’s connected to Dad’s death…thinks I have trouble dealing with loss.”

In all honesty, Markus agrees with just about everything Lucy told him earlier. But at the same time, he doesn’t understand one little piece. The fish. What does a repeated hallucination of a dying fish have to do with Markus’ broken memory or issues with letting go? What is his mind trying to tell him?

“Did your parents die?” Connor asks bluntly, and Markus nods.

“That’s the way Lucy made it sound, though I don’t remember it.”

“Are you gonna look at the paper?”

“I don’t know.” Markus was going to change into normal clothes, but he decides against it halfway to his closet. Instead, he turns to face Connor, who stands up when he notices he’s being watched. “I’m a little afraid of what could happen.”

“Just remember, you’re not alone,” Connor tells him. “Whatever happens—whether you look at that chart or not—you’ve got your circle of friends. And Lucy. Leo, even. And _me._ ”

Markus has noticed during the course of the time he’s spent with Connor that the other man doesn’t get embarrassed easily. But right now, he looks the very example of embarrassed. He brings a hand up to his own face and scratches nervously at his cheek, leaving a streak of blue paint along it in the process.

Markus outright laughs.

“I was being serious,” Connor defends, but Markus raises a hand and shakes his head. He moves to stand in front of the desk with Connor, taking hold of his wrist. He turns his hand so that his palm is pointing up.

“You’ve got blue paint all over your hand. Now, you’ve got it on your face.”

“What?” Connor turns a shocked gaze to the pyramid he’s made of the paint bottles. He spends a few moments scrutinizing his work, presumably to find out which of the paints had leaked onto his fingers, before he sighs and plucks a red one from the top. “That…that just won’t do.”

“What won’t?” Markus laughs again. “Connor, it’s just paint—”

He gets the words out just in time for Connor to unscrew the lid, dip a finger in, and reach up. He swipes a line of red right across the bridge of Markus’ nose.

“Now we’re even,” Connor says simply.

…When did this become a competition?

“I didn’t put the paint on your hand!” Markus balks in response, before he snatches the very same paint and swipes two fingers around the rim of the bottle. He draws two lines straight down the side of Connor’s unmarked cheek.

And then Connor’s laughing. Genuinely laughing. Markus realizes with alarming ferocity that Connor, when he’s truly happy, has a bubbly laugh. It reminds him of the way popcorn sounds cooking in the microwave, or of the sound cartoon bubbles make popping, and god, if he isn’t in love with every last decibel of that sound.

Before either of them know it, they’re laughing and smearing paint all over each other. Blues and greens and reds and pinks, browns and yellows, cover their cheeks and foreheads and noses. Markus plants a black dot on Connor’s chin, and Connor makes a handprint of forest green right on Markus’ chest, where his heart is.

And when he doesn’t remove that hand, Markus knows that something is happening. He’s completely awake as the last little piece of his memory of that first night with Connor floods into his mind.

_Connor stands at the exit to the park, facing away. He’s got his hands folded behind his back, a gesture Markus notices he does a lot. The breeze makes his coat flutter just slightly, his hair dancing in soft wisps atop his head. He’s so easygoing and relaxed, but right now, he looks almost wistful. Markus’ heart aches at the sight. He realizes that no matter how little sleep he might get tonight, he doesn’t really want to leave._

_“Your friends are probably waiting on you, huh?” Connor observes aloud, his voice soft. It’s not fair, how soft his voice is. Markus wants to hear his voice like it was when they were in the bar, or like when he was speaking about metaphors. How sure he was of his words when he had been standing outside of Jericho. He wants to hear the strange, childish excitement Connor had spoken with when he’d directed them to the hamburger jail._

_But instead, this is the way he’s going to speak as they separate. How cruel of him…_

_“It’s late, so probably,” Markus replies almost robotically. “I could take a bus home if I need to.”_

_“You’re not going to do that, Markus,” Connor laughs softly. “You wouldn’t worry them like that. It’s not like you.”_

_“You say that like you’ve known me for years,” Markus observes, and when Connor pivots to face him, he sees the wind kick up again. Connor’s coat jumps in the air, his hair dancing effortlessly along with it. His eyes are alight—warmer than anything the entire night has given Markus._

_“That’s what happens when you talk years with me, Markus,” Connor answers simply. He strides forward, cutting the couple of yards of distance between them in half with ease. “You opened up to me, and now I know a little bit more about you. And yeah, I don’t know everything, but I know you’re a good person. I know your friends are everything to you. I know you shouldn’t leave them wondering.”_

_Markus hasn’t been able to paint for three months, but he thinks that in that moment, he could paint Connor. Paint the way he seems to control how the wind blows. How it doesn’t take him away with it—he just stands in front of it like he has all the power in the world to make it do as he pleases._

_Markus thinks, in that moment, that there’s no way Connor can be human._

_He doesn’t want this to be goodbye. It feels like one to him right now. Like the way his father left him. Like the way his brother left him. How his paintbrushes and canvases and everything else he’s got are eventually going to leave him._

_Connor is definitely right about one thing—he’s got his friends._

_He tries to reassure himself of this fact when Connor approaches again. Steels himself as Connor stops just inches in front of them and cocks his head to the side._

_“I’ve tried my best to be unforgettable for you tonight. Do me a favor and hold onto that, okay?” Connor’s voice is still solemn, but also hopeful. Markus doesn’t know what to think. “I want you to know that you’ve given me the best night I’ve had in a long time, and I’m going to cherish it from here on out.”_

_He places a hand on Markus’ heart, tips his head up, and presses the softest of kisses to his lips._

_“Thank you for that.”_

Markus gapes down at Connor, his heart suddenly racing. Just like on that night, Connor looks so very at peace with himself. He looks in control. Even covered in various paint smears, he looks like he’s got the situation right where he wants it. With that hand still on Markus’ chest, he peers up and smiles at him.

“What?” He asks playfully, but his expression sobers when he sees the look of shock on Markus’ face. “…Markus?”

Part of Markus is furious with himself for not being able to do as Connor had asked and hold on to the memories he gave him from that night. Another part of him is so overwhelmed with emotion, because while he had no recollection of the kiss until now, he feels like it’s been a huge part of what’s pulled him through the past month of his life. That kiss, and Connor Stern.

Markus doesn’t know what the extent of his feelings are right now, but he knows he’s not waiting anymore. Fuck being _attracted_ to Connor. Fuck just curling up with him in bed. He wants more. He wants Connor to know that he doesn’t want this to be it. No more goodbyes. This is forever. It’s got to be forever.

He raises his hand up and closes it over the one on his chest. His gaze dances across both of Connor’s eyes, and then down to his mouth. Connor’s lips are slightly parted with confusion. He’s about to cock his head in perplexity like he always does.

Except Markus puts a halt to that as he leans in and kisses Connor.

There isn’t a second that that kiss breaks. Connor reciprocates almost immediately by bringing his free hand up and cupping the back of Markus’ neck. In seconds, Markus’ other arm is around his waist, pulling him close.

Like the wind Connor seems to control, or the intense rushing water that haunts Markus’ dreams, the moment swirls around them. Markus feels Connor’s breath hitch as he kisses him, and he catches himself stifling the urge to do the same when the hand on his chest balls into a fist around his shirt.

Markus’ life is riddled with uncertainty. It’s uncertain whether his memories are going to continue to haunt him, or if the words on the paper Lucy gave him are going to do him any good. He’s uncertain whether he is truly going to be able to reconcile his relationship with Leo or not. He’s uncertain if he’ll ever be able to paint again.

But Connor is right. He’s got his friends. He’s got Lucy. And he’s got Connor.

_Connor_ is certain, that much he knows.

They’re covered in paint, but it doesn’t matter. Connor brings a hand up to Markus’ cheek and smears more paint across his skin, but Markus is barely aware of it. He’s too focused on tilting his head and letting his lips fall open into the kiss. On the way Connor urges him backward toward the bed. How his legs hit the mattress and he tumbles backward onto the sheets.

Connor rests atop him, but he wants more. He curls that arm back around Connor’s frame and rolls him over. Straddles him. Kisses him again. They’re panting as he rests his forearms on the bed on either side of Connor’s head and trails his fingers through that wispy hair. It’s as soft as he imagined. It’s perfect, just like everything else about Connor.

Markus doesn’t know exactly when it escalates, but it does. Somewhere amidst all their panting and the way their mouths move together, their bodies join the mix. Markus rocks his hips down, and Connor lets out a soft, breathy moan at the friction.

As they move, Markus can feel Connor’s hand slide up to grip at his side. He gasps at the feeling of those fingers drifting down along his hip and down to the waistband of his sweats. Connor dips his fingers in and pushes the article down. In a matter of seconds, he’s exposed, and the hand on his backside is at his front, curled around him, touching him.

Markus’ breathing stutters against Connor’s lips, before he follows suit. He tips his head and presses a kiss to Connor’s temple, before he works open the younger man’s belt and fly and he and Connor make a joint effort of shoving them down.

And then they’re moving together again, hips rolling into one another’s hands, Markus pressing kisses to Connor’s temple and cheek and jaw. He loves the way Connor lolls his head to the side to give him more room, and how the soft, breathy panting moans he’s letting slip are all starting to sound suspiciously similar to Markus’ own name.

They come together, shaking and panting and kissing, with Markus resting his forehead atop Connor’s. And when he’s finally coherent enough to remove his hand from Connor’s erection, he opens his eyes.

He knows in that instant that he’s not the only one realizing something is changing between them. But he also knows they’re both ready for it. Connor frees his hand and touches the side of Markus’ face again. Traces his bottom lip with his thumb. Kisses him again.

In a world where Markus’ mind is a jumbled mess of confusion and scattered memories and hallucinations, he thinks that maybe Connor could be his clarity. That Connor could keep him grounded. He doesn’t care if that means he’d be controlled like the way Connor seems to control the air around him.

Because he’s okay.

_They’re_ okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words cannot express how much I appreciate all the feedback I've gotten for this work. This is rapidly shaping up to become my longest chaptered work, and I'm just barely hitting the halfway point. So thank you guys for that. I would never have gotten past all the expository chapters without all your encouragement. 
> 
> Your comments and kudos and bookmarks make my life, okay? It seriously means so much to know that someone is even giving my ramblings the time of day. Thank you so much! I love you all!


	9. Papa

_“Whooooaah!”_

_Markus has his hands plastered to the glass of his new aquarium, his eyes wide and mouth gaping. As he mimics the way the fish inside breathes underwater, Markus' father speaks up._

_“It's called a zebra danio,” Carl explains warmly as he watches from not far behind his son. Markus is still mimicking the fish in the water. “An easy first pet, so long as you feed him every day and keep his tank clean. I’ll show you how to do that when the time comes, okay?”_

_Markus looks away from the tank, his hands still flattened out against the glass, and peers up at his father. “I love him! But why a fish?”_

_Carl just shrugs and moves to stand next to his son. “Every kid deserves a pet, Markus. It’s all part of the human experience. A fish is an easy first one, and with you being in school, you don’t have to give him as much attention as, say, that golden retriever you saw the other day.”_

_Markus understands now that he couldn’t have that dog because it had already been adopted by someone else. But he still feels a little sad._

_“Also,” Carl continues, placing a hand on Markus’ shoulder as he resumes speaking, “You’ve been afraid of water for three years.”_

_“I have not!” Markus defends, his cheeks and ears heating up. “I take showers, don't I? And I brush my teeth twice a day and wash my hands every time I pee.”_

_Carl laughs. “And I’m proud of you for all of that, son. But I have yet to see you in a pool.”_

_“Swimming isn't that great,” Markus responds with a pout._

_“Maybe not, but you can still have fun doing it.” Carl smiles. “So, maybe I’m wrong and you’re not afraid, but this is still important.” He lowers his hand and turns to face the aquarium, where a single golden zebra danio flutters about in the water. “Because water isn’t all bad. Some animals, like this fish here, need it every waking moment of their life to survive. And look how happy he is in it. He loves his new home.”_

_Markus turns his gaze to the tank once more, his eyes unblinking, as he surveys the animal inside. The fish swims around the light dusting of plants in its tank, glubbing along carelessly. It definitely doesn’t seem to be in any danger._

_He pouts and stares down at the ground. “Okay, I’m scared of it. I’m scared of the water.” Afterward, he turns a glance to his father. “But I’m not afraid of this much. It isn’t enough for me to sink down into. It can’t kill me.”_

_“That’s the way to look at it,” Carl praises, reaching out to pat the top of his son’s head._

_Markus stares at the tank yet again. “…Dad?”_

_“What’s up?”_

_“Can you paint him for me?”_

_Carl frowns. “How come?”_

_“Because he’s pretty,” Markus smiles. “And also, if something does happen to him, I want to have something to remember him by.”_

_He doesn’t notice the way his father is staring at him. The shock on his face. He doesn’t see any of that. All he sees is the water inside the tank, and the golden fish as its fins flutter about in the water. He does, however, hear Carl when he speaks._

_“I don’t know, Markus.” When Markus glances up at his father, confused, he sees that the man is smiling. “But hey, how about I show you some tricks of the trade so you can paint him yourself?”_

_\--- --- --- --- ---_

Markus awakens to mumbling. He also realizes that Connor’s familiar warmth isn’t pressed against his body. When he finally manages to talk his eyes into opening, he notices that the other man is seated on the edge of the bed, talking on his phone.

“Yeah, okay,” Connor mutters sleepily, making Markus aware of the fact that he must have just taken the call, “I’ll see what I can do.” He hangs up and stares at the display on the screen, before he sets it aside on the mattress.

“Who was that?” Markus wonders, propping himself up on his elbows. “Is everything okay?”

Connor turns to face Markus and smiles. “I woke you.”

“No,” Markus shakes his head, “you didn’t. I just don’t sleep all night like I used to.”

“Another dream?” Connor wonders, and Markus laughs.

“The pattern is that obvious, is it?” In any case, he flops back down onto his bed and folds his hands behind his head. “But yeah. It was a good dream, though.”

“Yeah?” Connor shifts over on the bed until he’s seated on his knees directly next to Markus. He looks so tall there, Markus observes. “What kind?”

“A memory,” Markus answers simply. “I’d forgotten it took me three years to name Sebastian.”

“Sebastian…?” Connor cocks his head, but almost instantly, his face lights up with realization. “Your fish! The one you named after your movie-crush.”

Markus just rolls his eyes. “Yeah, him. I got him when I was eleven, but didn’t name him until I was fourteen. He died of old age not long after that, too.”

“…You said this was a happy dream,” Connor mutters with a frown.

“It was,” Markus replies. “I didn’t dream of him dying. I dreamed of getting him. I was pretty stoked about it, you know?”

Something about Connor’s expression perplexes Markus there. It’s like he’s in thought, but there’s something else there, too. And just when he’s about to ask if Connor is alright, the man leans down and presses a kiss to his lips.

It serves as a memoir of what happened the day before. Markus finds himself recalling how he remembered what happened the night he and Connor had first met, and their second first kiss. How heated things had gotten the very instant they had both become aware of what was going on. How they hadn’t stopped until their bodies were shaking and spent, pressed tightly together.

Except this time, it’s gentle. Sweet. A reminder, but not a persistence. It’s like it's Connor's way of telling Markus that he remembers what happened, and that maybe he wants that to become commonplace. The two have never really discussed anything in the vein of their relationship, so it's no surprise to Markus that these feelings still remain unspoken. So long as Connor continues to kiss him like that, however, he finds he doesn't care.

“I need your help,” Connor tells him softly, lips still close enough to make contact.

He already knows he's going to accept.

\--- --- --- --- ---

“Sumo!”

The instant they’re in the door of the Anderson house, a big hulking animal of a dog comes ambling its way over, and Connor drops to his knees immediately to give the dog attention. He bundles his hands up in thick tufts of the aforementioned Sumo's fur and laughs freely as the dog licks his face. “I missed you too, okay? Calm down, boy…”

Markus has been placed in charge of helping one Officer Anderson, who he now knows is called Hank, stumble his way into the house. Apparently, the phone call Connor received was one of Hank's partners asking for his help getting the man home. Connor had requested that Markus drive them, and here they are.

“Shit,” Hank slurs drunkenly, one arm slung over Markus’ shoulder, as Markus guides him to the couch and lowers him down to sit on it, “it's times like this I’m convinced my dog loves that kid more than he loves me.”

Markus doesn’t ask permission to raid the kitchen as he pours Hank a glass of water. The kitchen is a mess, he notices along the way. Either way, he emerges back into the living room and moves to hold the drink out. When Hank accepts the glass, he takes a seat next to him.

“Does Connor visit often?”

Hank scoffs. “Not as much as he used to. I usually only see him if his buddy freaks out about him going missing or if he wants to come see Sumo. Or…nights like this.”

Like this. Does Hank mean getting drunk and needing a ride home? How often does that happen? Markus doesn’t know much about him, but he instantly finds himself curious. Connor had seemed bitter toward him the other night, but he still visits. And knowing Connor, Markus has a feeling it’s not just because of the dog.

“Your friend always defaults to calling Connor to help you?” Markus frowns. “With respect, sir, why not call a taxi?”

Hank rolls his eyes and winces around a sip of water. “So first of all, none of that ‘sir' bullshit. My name is Hank. And second, taxis cost too much goddamn money. I would have sooner walked home, but Chris knew I was out and called Connor.”

Markus sighs, but before he can say anything, Hank continues.

“I’m sorry you had to get out at this hour, but thanks for driving us. You know how I feel about Connor walking around in the dead of night.”

Markus shakes his head. “I was awake, it’s okay. But there is something I’m curious about. Did something happen between you and Connor? He acts like he's pretty mad at you.”

Hank scoffs. “You're asking me this heavy shit while I’m hammered, kid. You expect me to have a good answer for you right now?”

“…You're right,” Markus replies with another sigh. “It's not my place to ask, anyway.”

Hank leans forward and returns the water to the table. “Nah. You’re just worried about the guy. I get it. Frankly, I appreciate it.” Before he can continue on that train of thought, he doubles over there and groans loudly. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“This is why you’re an idiot,” Connor grumbles from nearby. Markus hadn’t noticed his presence until now, but as Connor helps Hank to his feet and guides him to the bathroom, he looks downright irritable. The two disappear into the bathroom, and Markus looks about the house. Sumo shuffles over, and he finds himself compelled to give the dog attention.

“You’re so friendly,” Markus coos warmly as he ruffles Sumo's fur. “No wonder Connor adores you so much. Make sure to give your owner lots of love tonight, okay? He's not feeling so well and I bet dog kisses are exactly what he needs.”

After a few minutes, Markus hears the shower turn on. Hank's voice follows in a comically loud scream, and Markus bites back a laugh. The water shuts off seconds later.

He gets up and starts into the kitchen, deciding to occupy his time cleaning. The rest of the house is so tidy that it almost looks untouched, but the kitchen is a disaster. It's obvious this is where Hank spends most of his time.

Markus gets to work scooping up old takeout boxes and tossing silverware into the sink. He closes chip bags and tucks them into the pantry, then stops to pour fresh food and water into Sumo's bowls. He makes his way back to the table to pick up the dirty dishes there. After he deposits the dishes into the sink, he moves to wipe down the now-clean table.

There's a photo sitting face-down on the wooden surface, and maybe it isn’t any of Markus' business, but he can't stop himself from looking. He turns it over and picks it up.

It looks like a school photo. A boy, probably six or seven years old, smiling widely at the camera. Markus notes that the boy has Hank's eyes.

“That's Cole,” Connor's voice suddenly explains, and Markus jumps at his presence. He turns to face the younger man, who is leaned up against the doorframe, rolling a quarter around between his fingers. “Hank's son. He died in a car crash years ago. Hank and his wife split up not long after it happened, and he's never been the same since.”

Even now, Markus hears the bitterness in his tone.

“When he isn't working, he keeps his mind occupied by going out to bars and getting drunk. If Chris doesn't call me for help, Hank shuffles aimlessly home by himself on the brink of passing out, and he still thinks it's okay to get mad at me for taking walks at night.”

Maybe Markus is just being presumptuous, but with the way Connor talks, it almost sounds like he worries about Hank when he goes off like this. And it makes sense. If the guy is getting wasted all the time, it can't be healthy. It occurs to Markus that people handle grief in very different ways.

“This is his coping mechanism for what happened to his son, then,” Markus observes aloud, and Connor nods.

“I thought that was it, but a few months ago, I came over to check on him and Sumo, and…” he flips the coin into the air and misses the catch, so it rings loudly as it hits the ground, bouncing off the floor and then rolling its way into the kitchen. “If he's not out drinking, he's at _home_ drinking. A few months ago, I came in to see him holding a gun to his head.”

The color drains out of the room at those words. Markus is completely honed in on Connor, because it looks like he might snap any minute.

“ _Russian Roulette_ , he had called it,” Connor continues, “like it was nothing. He joked about wanting to see how long he could last. He looked me straight in the eyes and said it, too. Like he wasn't ashamed.”

Markus frowns. He bends down to pick up the coin and pockets it. He'll give it back later. Connor either doesn’t notice or doesn't care. He seems to be in his own world.

“He doesn't think he has anyone else left in this world,” Markus realizes aloud, and Connor glares up at him.

“He's got Sumo!” Connor retorts defensively. “And Mom. And me.”

Markus shakes his head. “Don't get me wrong, I’m not defending him. I definitely get why you’re angry with him now, though. I just…kind of know the feeling.”

Connor's glare shifts to the ground. He almost looks frantic.

“Not like that,” Markus is quick to add. “I've never thought about offing myself over Dad. Hell, North would bring me back from the dead just to kick my ass for it if I did. It's just…when you lose someone like that, it's easy to forget everyone but them. I didn't do it on purpose. I got lost in wondering how I was even supposed to walk straight, because with Dad gone, I didn’t have a path anymore. Forgot that North and Simon and Josh were looking out for me. You came in and reminded me that I wasn't alone.”

Markus turns his focus down the hall, toward the bathroom. “Maybe that's what he needs. He really cares about you, so maybe if you show him you care too, he'll wake up eventually.”

The color returns to the room there. Markus doesn’t think his words have fixed everything, but something has sunken in. Connor has heard Markus, and whatever he does now is completely up to him, but he looks like he's genuinely giving it some thought.

“When do you think you’re going to paint again?” he asks. Markus doesn't mind the subject change.

“I dunno,” he answers honestly, his hands folded behind his back as he leans against the kitchen counter. “I need to try again soon. Hopefully before your pyramid starts gathering dust.”

They both laugh at that, and Connor flashes Markus a smile. “Can I make a confession?”

Markus blinks, but soon shrugs. “Go ahead, I’m all ears.”

“I don’t know how to drive.” Connor's cheeks flush a little red as he speaks, and Markus finds he wants to walk over and touch his face to see if it's a little warmer. “Mom was going to buy me a car after I graduated college, but I dropped out. So when Hank calls me, I usually end up getting us a taxi. That’s why I asked you for help today.”

Okay, but that's kind of cute. No, that's _really_ cute. How in the hell could Connor up and get himself embarrassed about that? Markus can't help but smile.

“Did you think I would make fun of you?” he asks bluntly.

“Not at all,” Connor responds. “That's why I told you. I’ve just been thinking that maybe it's about time I got my driver's license and started saving up for a car. Independence and all that, you know?”

Sumo, as if sensing apprehension from Connor, shuffles over and parks himself on the ground at his feet. Connor drops down and slumps over him, nuzzling his fur. Markus watches him get lost in the feeling, and it almost looks like he's going to fall asleep right there.

Markus turns to keep working on the kitchen. He's nearly finished washing dishes when Connor speaks up again.

“I see the way you look at me.”

Markus doesn't even know what that means. He pivots, brow furrowed in confusion. Connor's face is mostly buried in the fur on Sumo's back as he speaks again.

“You’re always so full of wonder when you look at me. I’ll admit, I try hard to keep you that way.” He smiles, and there's something in his expression Markus can't quite put a label on. He looks sad and happy all at the same time. “I just don't ever want to stop being fascinating to you.”

“Connor…” Markus dries his hands on a towel and abandons his work on the dishes, crouching next to him. “You’re incredible to me, okay? I don't ever see that stopping.”

Connor's smile fades, leaving just the sadness in its wake. “But what if it does?”

“It won't, I promise you,” Markus responds easily, reaching out to run his fingers through the hair atop Connor's head. “You don't have to put on a front around me. I…Jesus, without waxing poetic, I—"

“Oh, _do_ wax poetic,” Connor smirks and sits upright.

“That.” Markus replies bluntly, jabbing a finger in Connor’s direction. “That right there. The things you say that completely flip the envelope on me. I could never get tired of that. I _really_ like you, Connor. And I want to know more about you.”

Connor seems satisfied with that response. He turns to face Markus fully, despite his lapful of dog, and reaches out to touch his face. “Good. Because I at least want to be around long enough to see you finish that painting. At this rate, it’s going to be a while…”

Markus whistles. “Harsh, Connor. Low blow.”

“Could the two of you _please_ not flirt around my dog?”

They both glance up upon hearing Hank's voice, and Markus can't stifle the small laugh that escapes him when he sees that the officer is covered from head to toe in water. “You’re soaked.”

Hank shoots Connor a harsh glare. “Yeah well, that's because of _this_ asshole.”

Connor frowns up at him, then pushes himself to his feet. “It's what you needed. I sobered you up so you wouldn’t go unconscious after throwing your guts up.”

“You enjoyed it and we both know it,” Hank retorts around a sigh.

“I never attempted to imply otherwise,” Connor says back proudly. “Anyway, go to bed. Markus and I are heading back home.”

Markus is suddenly pulled to his feet there. He doesn’t fight it, though, as Connor leads him to the door.

“…the fuck did you do to my kitchen!?” Hank roars in shock. Markus glances over in time to see Connor roll his eyes.

“It's not our fault you forgot what your table looked like underneath all that junk.” He crouches when Sumo follows them to the front door and nuzzles his fur once more. “Don't worry, boy. I’ll be back to check on you and your dad soon. Keep him good company, okay?”

Sumo boofs happily in response, and then Connor gets to his feet and faces Markus.

“Let's go.”

\--- --- --- --- ---

Connor's workplace is packed, both inside and out. The parking lot is flooded with cars, and when Markus strides into the Walmart doors and to the pharmacy, the entire area is crowded. Customers wait in bench seats and stand with full carts at the window. People are complaining about how long it's taking.

Markus had offered to pick Connor up from work so that they could hang out, but from the looks of it, it's going to be a little bit before he can leave. Connor spots him and casts an apologetic glance his way, but Markus just smiles and shakes his head. It isn't like Connor has any control over the situation, after all.

So for now, he wanders around the store. He's got no intention of purchasing anything, but he does find himself strolling toward the grocery section for things he can pick up to take home. Do they have enough blue Powerade at home? What are he and his roommates planning on eating for dinner tonight?

Markus supposes he could make one quick shopping trip while he waits—

He collides head-on with someone as he rounds a corner into the meat section, and instantly reels backward. He's ready to start spewing apologies, but the guy he crashed into speaks up first.

“I hope your driving isn't as shitty as your walking.”

Markus recognizes him instantly. It isn't every day you order a whole cheesecake from Ravioli House, after all. The scar across the nose that’s attached to a very grouchy-looking face tells Markus all he needs to know.

“You’re the Ravioli House guy.”

The aforementioned Ravioli House guy balks in response to those words, before he crosses his arms over his chest. “I _do_ have a name, asshole.”

Markus notices two things. The first is that this guy doesn’t look like encountering any member of the human species is at the top of the priority list. The second is that he's clad in the uniform vest Walmart associates wear. Huh…he must have two jobs.

“Yeah?” Markus questions, not offended by the harshness of the words. Leo and Daniel are both a part of his life, after all. Some stranger who also possesses a foul attitude doesn’t hold a candle to them. “What is it?”

“Are you always this friendly to strangers?” Ravioli House Guy questions back. “Besides, it's right here on the nameta—oh fuck,” Markus watches him glance down at his own chest, and then back up to him, “I forgot it again today. Gonna hear about that one.” He sighs. “It's Gavin. I remember you too, by the way. You gave me one helluva good tip.”

“That's because I felt bad that my friend ordered food so late,” Markus admits. He then extends a hand out toward Gavin. “My name is Markus.”

Gavin looks at the proffered hand like it's got a knife in it. He glances back up at Markus, and then once more down to the open palm extended out to him. “Do you use that hand when you piss?”

Markus frowns deeply. “I, uh, I use both? I wash them if that's what you’re—"

“Do you jerk off with that hand?”

Markus gapes at him. “I don't see why you need to know that.”

“Answer the question.”

“No way.”

“C'mon, everyone rubs one out from time to time. Nobody in here is any different.”

“What kind of answer are you even expecting?”

Gavin scoffs and tucks both his hands into his pockets. “Pussy.”

And like that, he's gone. Markus is left gawking at his back as he walks away. He doesn't even know what happened just now. He almost feels a little dizzy from the intensity of it all.

How in the hell does the guy carry a _job_ with an attitude like that?

In any case, he focuses on his shopping. Grabs a cart that’s been abandoned near the dairy section and picks up everything he needs. Fifteen minutes later, he has loaded his groceries into the trunk of his car and is on his way back in to check on Connor.

The line seems to have dwindled, finally. By now the metal grates have been pulled shut at all the windows, and Connor is sitting by himself at the metal bench. He's caught up in playing on his phone, still seated rigidly with his back perfectly straight. Despite that, he seems to be enjoying whatever he's looking at on his screen. Markus approaches from behind, his hands resting in his pockets.

“Why do you always sit like that?”

Connor doesn't startle. Markus gets the feeling he had heard his approach. Either way, he turns to regard Markus, and a tired smile forms on his lips. “What do you mean?”

Markus scratches the back of his head. He supposes that was kind of a weird question to pop off with out of the blue. “Your posture is really rigid. Do you do that naturally?”

Connor blinks. “I suppose. I sort of grew up into it. It's second nature at this point. Anyway, shall we go?” He stands up, and Markus feels blown away all over again. Even after a long day at work, with some of his curls hanging astray, the tiredness in his eyes, and the long white lab coat still hugging his slender frame, Connor is beautiful.

The two stride out together and Markus directs them to his car. The entire way, Connor regales him on the various crazy things he ran into today at work. He tells a story about a lady who snapped her own ID in two right in front of his coworker when she got carded for paying by check, and the little girl who had sung Jingle Bells to him, even though it's April. Markus laughs along, story after story, until they eventually die off into silence.

It's a comfortable silence, though. Both men seem content on introspection, mentally looking over the way things had gone for each of them today. It's then that Markus remembers the eccentric associate he had met while shopping.

“Do you know a guy who works at your store named Gavin?”

The impish grin on Connor's face tells Markus he does, and also suggests he has a good idea why he's being asked about the guy. Despite that expression, Connor questions, “why do you ask?”

Markus feels a little awkward bringing it up, but when he remembers he's already been both physically and emotionally intimate with Connor, he figures he can share. “I ran into him today while I was waiting on you. I think he also works for Ravioli House.”

“He does,” Connor answers. “Walmart is his primary job, but he works for Ravioli House on the side.”

Markus nods. “Well, I introduced myself to him and he wouldn't shake my hand. Asked me if I peed with that hand, and then proceeded to ask if I jerked off with it.”

Markus should have known Connor wasn’t going to be the type to get all flustered by that. No, if anything, he looks even more amused. His impish grin graduates to a devilish one. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“ _Do_ you?”

Markus can feel his face heating up. Why again did he bring this to Connor's attention? “Are you serious right now?”

“Do you jerk off with that hand, Markus? It's a simple question.”

“I didn’t tell you about this so you could interrogate me too, you know.”

Markus glances over in just enough time to see Connor literally start pouting. Arms crossed over his chest, lip poked out and everything, the man is pouting. “You’re no fun. Anyway, that’s what Gavin says to throw everyone off guard and avoid introductions. It works most of the time.”

Markus scoffs. “Did he do it to you?”

Connor nods.

“What did you do?”

Connor shrugs. “I told him I’m right-handed.”

Okay, now _that's_ an image. Markus doesn’t mean to think about it. The question was an innocent one born out of pure curiosity, but he can't help but picture what Connor would look like doing something like that. Face flushed, mouth hanging open, those little soft moans Markus had gotten to hear a couple of days ago falling from his open lips…

…Jesus.

“Markus, where are we going?”

Connor has a way of pulling Markus out of his thoughts at just the right moment. Markus simply smiles at him. “We're almost there.”

Sure enough, he arrives not even a minute later. He pulls the car into an old parking lot to what appears to have been a strip mall at one point. By now, though, it’s just a memory. All the signs have been taken down and the doors covered in cardboard from the inside. The lot itself is empty, but wide and spanning about three stores’ worth of space. Markus parks out in the middle of the first lot.

“Markus?” Connor frowns.

“Switch me,” He suggests, climbing out of the car. Connor follows suit but he looks almost panicked.

“Markus, I can't—"

“Everyone has to start somewhere,” Markus explains as he rounds the front of the car and Connor reluctantly crosses paths with him and heads for the driver's seat. “I’m going to teach you. Don't worry, I’ll talk you through it. You just trust me, okay?”

As Markus climbs into the passenger's seat, he sees Connor swallow down nervousness. He places both hands on the steering wheel, his posture rigid out of anxiousness this time. Markus reaches out and places a hand on his knee.

“It's okay,” he tells him. “if you get too freaked out, we can stop. But you’ve got to start somewhere if you plan on getting your license.”

Connor seems to steel himself at that. “You’re right.”

And not surprisingly, Connor is a quick learner. His turns are very precise, and even in the parking lot of an abandoned strip mall, he never once forgets to use a turn signal. He's a little touchy on the brake to start with, but for the most part, he's got it.

Markus can see him starting to relax a little more as he drives, so he sits back and lets Connor practice to his heart's content while he goes along for the ride.

“Is this how you learned?” Connor asks.

Markus smiles at him in the impish way Connor had done before. “Why do you ask?”

Connor just laughs as he makes yet another u-turn in the lot. “It just seems like something you would do. Take what you learned from your dad and pass it down to someone else.”

Markus rolls his shoulders in thought. “Kind of. Except Dad was busy, so Leo ended up teaching me.”

“Leo?” Connor blinks, though his focus is still on the road. “I thought you didn’t spend much time with him.”

“I normally didn't,” Markus responds easily, “but Dad was busy with a big project, so he asked Leo to do it. He hadn’t been too happy about it, but he was actually a pretty good teacher.” Markus' expression softens. “When he isn't completely out of his mind with anger or frustration, he actually possesses some level of patience. I was a hard person to teach too, because I asked a lot of questions he didn’t have answers for. Like why they hadn’t torn this place down yet, or how long it had been since Dad had replaced his tires.”

Connor laughs softly. “That sounds like you. Mind always wandering. You’ve got quite the imagination, Markus.”

In his current state, battling hallucinations and vivid dreams left and right, Markus agrees. He can't quite bring himself to wish he didn't have such a wild imagination, though.”

Connor seems to sense where Markus' thoughts are. “Have you seen anything weird lately?”

It's only been a couple of days since Markus remembered what happened on the night he and Connor met, but in the span of those days, there hasn’t been anything. Markus isn't crazy enough to assume the two things correlate, but he does find himself holding some level of appreciation toward Connor for it.

“Not since I visited Lucy,” he responds after some thought. “Well actually, no, scratch that.” Connor frowns at that, but Markus just laughs. “Seeing your face all covered in paint was pretty weird.”

Connor rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, you got something good out of all of that, so I wouldn’t be complaining.”

“Definitely not complaining,” Markus replies. “But…no. I’ve been okay for the last day or so. Feels like a new record, considering how things have been lately.”

Connor doesn’t look away from the front window as he speaks. “I think it’s a good time to try and paint again, then.”

They both fall silent there. Connor focuses on driving, worrying at his lip, while Markus looks out the side window and follows the parking spots as they drive past them. But eventually, Connor starts squirming enough that it distracts Markus away from where he’s been looking. It’s obvious he can't contain himself.

“Maybe that was selfish of me,” Connor concedes around a sigh. “I’m just itching to see what you come up with.”

Markus' frown deepens. He can almost feel himself trying to sink further into the seat. “I don’t know where to begin. I’m afraid that if I start too soon, I’ll screw it up. And…Jesus, this painting is supposed to be a statement for everything I’ve been working toward. I don’t want to get it wrong.”

Connor's expression softens, his grip on the steering wheel loosening. He smiles the tiniest of smiles. “I suspect you may be overthinking it, Markus.”

Markus doesn’t speak. He instead waits for Connor to clarify.

“I don't think this one is about getting it right,” he explains. “I think that if you get started and hang yourself up on details, that's when you’re going to lose yourself. I may even venture a guess that this is why you’re already losing yourself.”

“Connor…”

“Think about it,” Connor continues. “You’re so worried about having your father there to guide you along that you start wondering if you’re doing this part right or skipping past another part. Do you honestly think Carl would have been so critical of you when he was alive?”

No…of course not. Even when pointing out Markus' mistakes, Carl had been gentle and warm. Had shown him ways to make those mistakes an important part of the picture. Had encouraged him to use his imagination. He had never been critical or rude, and even today, he probably would have just laughed or made some joke, before telling Markus to keep going with the picture.

“I don’t believe finishing this painting is about making it look perfect,” Connor explains. “I think that once you get it done, you’ll feel accomplished no matter what might happen along the way. Those mistakes are a part of your journey. You shouldn’t treat them like road blocks.”

Markus feels the warmth of Connor's hand as it moves to rest on his thigh. “I like you too, Markus,” he explains, and Markus doesn't have to think much to know he's referring to what had been said the other night at Hank's house. “A _lot_. And I want to see where your journey takes you. So please, stop second-guessing yourself. Your talent shouldn’t go away with the person who showed you how to use it. Carl gave you this gift. You shouldn’t bury it with him.”

Markus feels warm all over. It's like a full-body high, and it sucks the air right from his lungs. Connor always knows just what to say. It's like he's wired for this very situation. Like he was programmed to help Markus through his struggles.

“You’re probably right,” he finally responds around a sigh. He places a hand atop the one on his thigh. “Next night we spend together, I’ll try again.”

The smile on Connor's lips in response to that is worth every ounce of emotional struggling Markus has been through as of late.

“Go ahead and pull out onto the road,” Markus tells him after that. “I’ll let you drive us home.”

\--- --- --- --- ---

After Markus drops Connor off at his apartment, he heads home. He's tired from the day's events and he just wants to put the groceries away and get some sleep. He's in the process of loading the case of Powerade he bought into the fridge when North emerges from her room and almost immediately speaks up. She’s probably been waiting all this time for him to get back just so she could talk to him.

“How'd it go?” she asks him. He throws the last two bottles into the fridge and swings the door shut, before he turns around to regard her.

He had informed North the day before that he had planned on helping Connor learn to drive, so she knows exactly where he's been. That in mind, he just smiles and leans on the kitchen counter.

“It went well. Connor is a fast learner. He gets a little nervous and he has a ways to go, but that’s alright.”

“It's crazy that a guy his age doesn’t know how to drive,” North muses aloud.

Markus just shrugs. “I don’t think he had much of a hand in the matter. From what I’ve learned, he was kept on a tight leash until a couple years back.” He shakes his head there, though, and nods toward North. “How are things with Chloe?”

North's smile is a warm one. Like the kind of smile that forms on cold lips after the first sip of hot cocoa. “Things aren't official or anything. She knows I’m having a lot of trouble committing after what happened. I had this big stupid emotional breakdown about my ex in front of her. Told her how I knew it was dumb to be this upset when I hadn’t dated my ex for more than a couple of weeks. But…she got it, you know?”

As North continues speaking, Markus opens up the freezer and grabs an ice cream bar for the both of them. He passes one to her, and while she pops open the plastic, she keeps talking. “She said that cheating isn't something she takes lightly. That she can understand how it would make it hard for me to trust anyone else. She's so patient and kind, Markus. It's hard not to want more.”

The two of them leave the kitchen. Markus takes a seat on the couch and North parks next to him, crossing her legs and resting her free hand in her lap while she munches away at her ice cream.

“I’m really happy for you and Connor,” she starts as she slumps over and leans against Markus' shoulder, “but with you two being so happy together and there being a big chance that Chloe and I might have something, not to mention Simon and Josh…I get the feeling we're all growing up and starting the next chapter of our lives.”

“Simon and Josh?” Markus cocks an eyebrow.

“Long story,” North tells him. “I’ll explain later.”

North doesn't say a word after that, which gives Markus a chance to let what she said sink in. A next chapter, huh? Does she think they’re going to grow apart?

“…Maybe we are,” Markus thinks aloud after a few moments. “And maybe we'll all move out into our own places and graduate college and start our careers…but I don’t see too much changing between us.”

North hums out a single note in thought.

“Just because we don't spend as much time together as we used to doesn’t mean we're growing apart. Like you said, we're just growing up.” Markus tips his head and smiles down at her. “I mean, who else is going to cook you food so you don’t go broke ordering takeout every single day?”

North giggles around a mouthful of ice cream. “I hate cooking, okay?”

He reaches up and places a hand atop her head. “And who is going to help me keep a lid on the…extensive list of mental issues I’m currently dealing with?”

“Connor can."

“Connor definitely can,” Markus agrees. “But so can you guys. And you all, him included, are constantly reminding me that while this is something I have to handle in my own way, I don’t have to do it alone.”

North scoffs. “You grow cheesier with age, you know that? Like fancy gouda.”

Markus just shrugs and leans back against the cushions as North polishes off her ice cream and flops over to rest her head in his lap. “You're in a really good mood today,” she observes.

“I had a fun time,” Markus responds. He takes one last bite of his ice cream and tosses the wrapper away onto the coffee table. “So what's the deal with Simon and Josh?”

North folds her hands behind her head and peers up at her friend. “Let me just put it this way: we are the gayest roommates in this entire complex.” When Markus makes it obvious he's waiting on a more clear explanation, she sighs. “It's not really set in stone just yet, but there may be something between them. They decided to go on a walk today. Talk things through and shit.”

“Whoa…” Markus lets that sink in for a few moments. “I can't believe I never noticed…”

“You’ve got your own shit to deal with right now,” North reassures. She then moves to sit up. “Anyway, I’ve got stuff to do tomorrow, so I’m hitting the hay. Take it easy tonight, okay?”

Markus nods, smiling softly. “I will.”

He's almost at the doorway to his room when North speaks up again.

“By the way, you should call your brother.” When Markus turns to face her, he sees the seriousness in her expression. “He came by earlier. Said you weren't answering his texts. He says it's important."

Honestly, Markus hadn’t been checking his phone most of the day. He had been too wrapped up in conversation with Connor. Either way, he thanks North for the information and steps into his room, closing the door behind him.

He can see the unread chart Lucy gave him still sitting on his bedside table. This isn't the first time he has caught himself staring at it. It haunts him, like a less intense version of the fish hallucination, or the younger version of him soaked to the bone. It reminds him that his story remains unwritten in his head.

At this point, he can't decide if he wants to finish the story or not.

He sighs and pulls out his phone. He has two messages from Leo and one from Connor. Leo's are simple enough: the firsts asks him if they can meet up somewhere to talk, and the second is an impatient text about how he needs to check his phone more often. He texts back a quick ‘ _sorry, busy day, I’ll call you first thing tomorrow'_ before checking Connor's message.

_[Connor]_

_9:34 PM_

_I just had a thought. Maybe you should contemplate asking your brother about the night the two of you scattered your father's ashes._

Markus isn’t sure where that thought popped out of, so he’s quick to text back.

_[Markus]_

_10:22 PM_

_What do you mean?_

He tosses his phone on the bed and strips down, slipping on a pair of pajama pants, brushing his teeth, and then moving to lie down on his bed. By then, Connor has already responded.

_[Connor]_

_10:25 PM_

_It's just that if your father passed away four months ago and the two of you scattered his ashes a couple of weeks later, that would put that night somewhere in between December and January. You told me you remember it storming, but it was too cold for rain at that time. I just think you should confirm with him that you both remember it the same way._

Markus freezes. Color disappears from his room, like it always does when the past comes back to visit him. There is suddenly such a violent chill in the air that Markus has to fight back the temptation to pull the blankets up around his shoulders.

No…it was definitely raining. Markus remembers the thunder and the lightning. Leo, panicked, as he scooped up toppled ashes mingled with rain…or was it snow…?

No…!

The fish lands in his lap this time. It flops so desperately that Markus can hear its fins slapping around and feel the cold contact with his clothed legs. It's so very real that Markus is sure he can feel the water soaking his pant legs.

“I’m sorry…” he whispers as he reaches down to scoop the fish up into both hands. It protests in fear, flipping right out of Markus' grasp and onto the sheets. He picks it up again. “it's okay. You’ve got to stop squirming, though…C'mon, I’m trying to help you…”

Somewhere in the room, someone is screaming. No, wailing. A sobbing child, but no matter how frantically Markus looks around, there's no one to be seen.

_“Mama…!”_

Markus goes rigid. A glance down at his bed tells him the fish and any traces of its existence have completely disappeared. The color, however, has yet to return to his room.

_“Get up here, son. I want to tell you a story.”_

A man's voice. Familiar, but Markus can't quite put a finger on it. Comforting. Warm. Soft and yet raspy at the same time. Like a hug without the contact. Markus feels protected by the sound.

“Papa…”

Color floods the room again, and the sound and the warmth and everything returns to the abyss it originated from. Markus is left sitting there on his bed, a hand covering his mouth, the cold and emptiness of the room now swimming around him and making him feel claustrophobic.

He just said ‘Papa' out loud.

He glances at the chart once more, his eyes wide.

_Tomorrow_ , he tells himself.

Tomorrow, he's going to read those papers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the Gavin working at Walmart thing is actually a subtle dedication to one of my best friends in the whole world. He's a HUGE fan of Gavin, and he also happens to work at Walmart, so I threw that in there in his honor. 
> 
> Once more, thank you guys so much for all your lovely reviews and kudos and bookmarks! It's honestly what keeps me inspired. <3 Thank you for giving me the motivation and courage to keep going!


	10. are you running toward something? or away from something?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter...was a freakin' challenge to write. I questioned it about every thousand words, got stuck midway through, and only just now got to a point where I'm satisfied with it. I toiled and toiled over it, but I'm so excited for the stuff that's coming as the story progresses that I worked really hard to get past it. 
> 
> I'm really sorry it took so long. I'm putting my heart into this work, guys. I hope it shows. ; w;
> 
> Also, it'll be in the tags too, but fair warning for some pretty intense descriptions of what dying looks like toward the end. It's nothing extremely gory, but you know.

Morning greets Markus with a chorus of North’s frustrated screams from the living room. He can’t quite make out the words, but he can tell that she’s extremely irritated and that it’s only going to get worse from here. It’s time to go and relax her.

He shuffles out of bed, still sporting his pajama pants, and ambles his way out into the living room. North is in the process of hanging up her phone, and when she looks at Markus, he notices that her cheeks and ears are flushed bright red—a color they usually turn when she’s either highly embarrassed or absolutely furious.

“We won’t have running water for most of the day,” she grumbles when she sees Markus’ expression beckoning for an explanation. “Guess there was some bullshit that happened between the City and our apartment complex that has them doing some sort of mandatory maintenance. But I’ve got class in a couple hours and I’m sure as shit not going out smelling like a loser.”

Markus frowns. “What does a loser even smell like?” he questions, trying to lighten the moment.

North’s expression twists into further fury as she crosses her arms over her chest. “I don’t fucking know, Markus—like the girl who woke up and tried to run her shower only to find out her landlords are incompetent assholes?”

Markus raises both hands in surrender. “Okay, I get it. Look, just follow me to Dad’s house and you can use the shower there. I need to talk to Leo anyway, and he’ll probably want to meet up there.” Or at least, that’s what Markus is assuming, since chances are, the conversation they’re about to have is over assets.

North frowns, glances down at the ground, and then nods. “Yeah, okay. Thanks, Markus. I’ll go pack up my stuff right now.”

Markus merely shrugs, before he heads back to his room to get dressed as well. If they don’t have running water, he’ll need to do most of his getting around over there, too. He shoots Leo a quick text message to let him know he’ll be over there, and then he gathers his things.

Aside from some powerful wind, it’s a nice day today. The temperature is mild enough that Markus gets away with wearing a light jacket over a tee shirt and a pair of khaki cargo pants. He steps outside, the comfortable temperature and weather putting him instantly into a good mood, and climbs into his car. As he pulls out of the complex, he sees North doing the same in her own vehicle.

He definitely isn’t ready for shit to hit the fan once North is gone to class an hour later and he’s gotten his shower. He’s even resorted to ordering late breakfast for himself and Leo, but then Leo arrives, opens his mouth, and everything goes sideways. He’s out the door in a matter of words.

Markus’ car is right there, parked in the driveway of his late father’s house, but he disregards it completely. He storms right past it and starts out onto the sidewalk. The wind is blowing fiercely, whipping the thin hooded jacket Markus is wearing around his frame like flimsy tracing paper. The howling of the fierce breeze in his ears makes it difficult to discern between it and the roaring of his blood in his eardrums.

He can’t remember a single time in his life where he’s ever been this angry. But right now, he’s so furious that he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

_“I want the car.”_

That was what Leo had said, as calmly as if he had said nothing at all. Had this been the important thing he wanted to talk about that North had mentioned last night? Had he no damned _shame_? Did he not remember what the two of them had talked about on the night they had visited Carl’s grave?

He probably does, but he’s also _Leo Goddamned Manfred_ , king of selfishness and stupidity. What gives him the right to think he’s earned the chance to tell Markus he wants the car he’s been driving since long before his father passed away? What gives him the right to think he can pick and choose _anything_ he’s getting?

Markus’ phone vibrates in his pocket, and against his better judgment, he pulls it out and looks at the display. Not surprisingly, Leo’s name pops up. Markus ignores the call, before he stuffs the phone back into his pocket and breaks into a run.

He doesn’t know where he’s going or why he’s running. He just needs some space. A little fresh air to help cool down the white-hot nerves currently searing him from the inside out and making him want to tear his skin off. He can almost immediately sense some level of catharsis from it, so he takes that as his cue to keep running.

Halfway across a street block, he trips and stumbles forward, making impact against a nearby brick wall. For a moment, he's disoriented, but he doesn’t want to stop. He focuses on catching his breath and regaining his vision, and then he keeps running.

He sprints across a street and down another sidewalk, his legs moving as quickly as he can carry them. He hops over a toppled-over bicycle and makes a sharp left around one corner, and then a right around another. He runs until he feels like his legs are going to give out on him, and then he throws himself backward against a wall and slides down until he’s resting on the ground.

His labored breathing mingles with the sound of the wind surrounding him, and it generates an almost relaxing cadence—a tempo he can allow his brain to follow as he works himself back down into a state of semi-calm. And he feels better. He feels so much better. After months of his mind playing tricks on him, his shaky grip on reality, his issues with his brother, and his depression over losing his father, he feels just now like he’s been able to let loose about it.

Markus finds himself wondering if Leo would have responded favorably to a simple ‘no’. He can’t imagine a timeline in which his brother would let it drop just like that, but he also can’t begin to fathom why, of all the assets his father had left behind, Leo’s interest lies in the one thing Markus had been given long before Carl’s passing. It’s not even included in the will, so it shouldn’t matter. And yet, Leo has the audacity…

Markus opens his eyes and turns his gaze to the right, almost as if he’s being drawn there. He can see a park in the distance. For a moment, he thinks he can make out the outline of the hamburger jail, but knowing the layout of this side of Detroit, Markus is aware that he can’t be at that particular park.

He does feel compelled to go see what it has, though. Markus thinks he remembers the park from somewhere, and as he approaches, he knows he’s right. The tall, curly plastic slide, the big jungle gym connected to it at one side, the swings that were too tall for him when he was younger…this is the very same park his foster family used to take him to all the time. The very same park where he had met Carl Manfred for the first time.

Markus approaches the jungle gym, with all its metal paths and twists and turns, connecting to monkey bars and balance beams and slides, and he can’t help but feel like it looks a lot smaller than when he was here last. He dares to walk up along one of the paths, taking a right turn that leads him up a long metal incline. He can almost see his seven-year-old self running up this very same path, a girl following along behind him.

Who was that girl? Why can’t he remember her face? She used to go to this park all the time…

_“I saw that boy at the park with all the other kids in his foster group, and while they played, he ran circles with a little girl. Moved in such a way that she almost followed him like he were a snake charmer.”_

Markus wraps his fingers around a pole that veers the path sharply to the left, and he swings himself around it, following another path that slants up. This is a path he used to take all the time as a kid. It led up to his favorite slide. And he and that nameless, faceless girl would slide down together. She would scream, and he would calmly chide her, because they knew exactly what was going to happen every time they descended that slide.

_“He took curves in rhythm. Led her along at his own pace. Let his heart guide him. And I thought, ‘what could I learn from this boy?’ He had so much heart. Every move he made oozed wisdom and observance. He was more aware of the world at seven years old than most grown men.”_

Markus stops at the top of the path, where the slide awaits, and he can’t help but think about how wrong his father was. Markus wasn’t aware of the world. If the past four months have been any lesson about his own life, it’s the simple fact that he’s been so blissfully ignorant for so very long. Why the younger Markus had decided to block off all his memories and leave today’s Markus grasping at straws like he is now, is beyond him.

He knows so little about even his own self.

“Is this park memorable to you?”

Connor always seems to show up at the perfect time, without fail. Either way, Markus turns his gaze up to follow the voice and sees the aforementioned Connor Stern standing a couple of yards away, just beyond the bend in the path Markus had breached not long ago. He sports an odd getup for a day like today—that long, heavy coat from when they had first met stands out like a sore thumb in weather that could almost be considered warm midway through April. But then again, Connor doesn’t handle the cold well, and it's also pretty windy, so Markus tells himself not to question it.

Instead, he nods in response to Connor’s words. “This is where I first met Dad.”

“That’s sweet…” Markus can see Connor approaching him, but the blood once more rushing in his veins blocks out the sound of his footsteps. Either way, he moves to stand next to Markus, placing his hand on the arch right in front of the slide entrance. “You look upset. Is everything alright?”

“How did you know I was out here?” Markus questions, and Connor just shrugs.

“I didn’t. I just happened to spot you during a walk.” Connor gestures with his head out toward the road Markus had come from. “You were running, and then you were gone, and then you were here. What happened?”

Markus steps backward and slides down along the metal guardrail until he’s sitting against it. He lets out a sigh. “Leo wanted to talk to me, and it didn’t go so well.”

Connor tips his head to the side, still standing in front of the slide entrance. “I see. Did you talk to him about what I suggested?”

“I…we didn’t get to that point,” Markus answers apologetically. He really does want to know if Connor’s right about that. With the way his head has been lately, Markus thinks that maybe he should question everything he sees. Not just when it rains, but the people he meets, the food he enjoys with friends, and maybe even Connor’s existence. He feels sick thinking like that. “He wanted to talk about assets again. Told me he wants my car. I didn’t let him get to the explaining why part. I was just angry that he was even asking me for anything, so I left.”

“Markus…” Connor releases a sigh and pivots, before he moves to crouch in front of Markus. “I’m not saying you should give him the car, but the two of you _do_ need to start talking about splitting assets. Your brother’s as entitled to that as you are.”

“I know that—”

Connor cuts him off with a single finger pressed to his lips. “You can get mad at him all you want, but your father entrusted half of everything to him. What he does with what he gets is his choice, so you’ve got to take a leap of faith and give him a chance. He’s clean now, right? Let him prove it.”

Markus scowls deeply, looking down at his own lap, as Connor drops his hand away from his mouth and continues speaking.

“I’m not saying give him what he wants. I just think it’s about time you guys hash out who gets what, so that the both of you can move on.”

_…so that the both of you can move on._

In a way, Markus knows Connor is right. He knows that sitting on all the assets his father has offered to both himself and Leo probably isn’t satisfying Carl any, either. While Markus has been spending this entire time thinking he’s doing what’s best for his father’s belongings, he’s starting to become aware of the fact that such a gesture probably also descends from some level of selfishness as well. Whether he wants to admit it or not, Carl adopted him, and when Leo came into their family, it was a little bit different to accept. Markus hadn’t put the thought into actual words, but at some point in time, a younger Markus had wondered how he was supposed to stand a chance against Carl’s blood son.

But Leo was bitter and distant, and for that reason, Markus hadn’t always felt like he had deserved anything Carl might have wanted to offer him. But what it boils down to—what it always _has_ boiled down to, is the simple fact that Leo is Carl’s son just as much as Markus is, and it’s _Carl’s_ wishes that are important. Markus can think he’s doing the right thing all he wants, but in the end, he hasn’t done the right thing until he’s sat down and at least tried to figure out who gets what.

“I…yeah, okay.” Markus sighs and runs a hand along the side of his face. “I know you’re right. I just…wish I knew—”

“Stop worrying about what he’s going to do with his half,” Connor chides. He then leans forward and shifts until he’s in Markus’ lap. Markus feels his entire body warm up there for a moment, as Connor nibbles shyly at his own lower lip and reaches out to trace his fingers along the front of Markus’ chest. He glances down between their bodies, and then turns his gaze up to meet Markus’. “I know something we could do to clear your mind…”

Jesus…Connor never fails to surprise. But…no. Not like this. He swallows down nervousness and shakes his head. “We’re in public right now.”

Connor’s shy demeanor fades there as he climbs off of Markus’ lap and heads back toward the slide. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. But I know where we can get some privacy.”

“You’re being serious?” Markus laughs, and Connor just smiles at him, before he takes hold of the arch and throws himself into the slide.

“Let’s go to hamburger jail!” He exclaims as he descends.

“No way!” Markus argues as he stands up and starts toward the slide too. He drops into it, his voice echoing around him against the thick plastic as he speaks. “That’s too cramped, and it’s still in public! Besides, it’s not…here…”

Or rather, it _wasn’t_ here. Markus doesn't know how to explain it. Suddenly, the entire park is different. It’s like emerging from the slide has placed him right in the middle of that park Connor took him to on the night they met. Ahead of him is that familiar hamburger jail, and not far from it, Connor is standing there, looking back at him. He's got his hands tucked into his pockets and he's smiling, and while Markus realizes quickly he’s hallucinating, he also finds he doesn’t care.

He's free inside his own mind for however long it wants to let him be that way. So long as he doesn’t have to do it alone, he’ll be fine.

So he goes to hamburger jail with Connor. Squirms his way up through the tube and gets himself laughed at again. He winds up with a lapful of Connor, and they make out like teenagers in the confines of that hamburger jail. Markus finds it strange how vividly he can taste Connor on his tongue.

“This still isn't in private,” Markus manages against Connor's lips, his fingers dancing through the other man's hair.

“Don't be boring,” Connor teases back as he slides his hands under Markus' shirt. Even though he's not really experiencing the moment, he notices that Connor's hands are cold. “Think about how exciting it is: PDA in hamburger jail, we're tiptoeing the line of public decency.”

“And if the officer who finds us is Hank?” Markus questions as Connor's lips move to his throat.

Connor scoffs against his skin, and he feels heat he shouldn’t feel. It pools around his neck and goes straight through his nerve endings, down his spine, right between his legs. “If Hank finds us, he'll no doubt throw a big fit and then leave. Besides,” Connor pulls back, prodding Markus’ chest with one slender finger, “You get to decide if he finds us or not.”

Right. Because this is all in Markus' head. But it’s not like he has ever been able to control his hallucinations, so Connor isn't exactly right.

Or maybe he can. Maybe this is all part of why he's seeing what he's seeing right now. Maybe he's supposed to be learning what he can and can’t control in his own head, because perhaps it’s possible to make the visions go away at his own leisure.

Or some fantastical bullshit like that. With the way Connor is seated atop him right now, he’s ready to believe just about anything.

“Damn it, Markus,” Connor whines, leaning in closer and rocking himself slowly down against Markus’ hips. He succumbs to a fit of frustration and snatches one of Markus' hands from his hair, then guides it down along his front. “Stop playing around. I want you to _touch me_.”

But just as soon as Markus moves to take control and do just that, the hamburger jail and Connor disappear entirely. The next thing Markus knows, he's sitting on his ass in the wood chips at the bottom of that tall, curly slide. He sighs and lets his shoulders slump, turning his gaze to his lap.

He almost thinks that maybe he could fall asleep there. Take himself a quick nap to cool off and then be on his way. Maybe go talk to Leo if he's still at the house. Listen to what Connor told him…or, well, what he imagined that Connor told him.

Markus is tired, but not enough to sleep. His mind is running too quickly for him to tuck the thoughts away. He thinks that maybe he's a little—

“Overwhelmed?” North's voice suddenly questions. “Yeah, probably.”

Markus turns his head up to regard her. She's standing a good twenty feet or so away, sporting the hoodie Markus had lent to her. If her interrupting his thoughts by completing them wasn’t evidence enough, he knows he’s still in his own head by the simple fact that he gave that hoodie to Connor a while back.

“The girl following you was me,” she explains, as if handing the completed memory back to him. “You were still in foster care, so you weren’t at my school yet. But you came to this park a lot and I followed you at first because you had weird eyes.”

Markus laughs. “You said that so bluntly to me one day, too.”

“I thought being honest would look better than following you around at the park all the time,” North replies with a laugh of her own. She still hasn't moved from her spot a handful of yards away. “But I also admired you. You never seemed to look for something to do. You were just at the park, walking around, taking in everything around you.”

“You also told me that in freshman year of high school,” Markus replied with another laugh, as North moves to take a seat on the ground next to Markus.

“Yeah. When I realized I was gay. You said this really stupid thing to me when I told you I was afraid to come out to my parents.”

“I proposed to you,” Markus finishes, shaking his head in amusement. “Thought maybe if I got married to you and operated as your beard, you could be with whoever you wanted and your parents wouldn’t have to know.”

“And I straight up decked you in the stomach,” North continues, smiling, “because that’s cruel to any partner you might get in the future, and also, I wanted to be proud of who I was. You were so comfortable with your sexuality. Why couldn’t I be?”

“But you could be,” Markus points out. “and you did. You had a girlfriend before your parents even knew. And when they found out, it was all fine and dandy.”

North reaches out before Markus can stop her and pinches his nose. “Shut up, I’m getting at something here!” she sits back and crosses her arms. “do you _really_ feel like you’re lost right now?”

Markus frowns. Does this count as talking to himself?

“You couldn’t remember me,” North continues. “You came back here wandering around. What answers are you searching for?”

Markus looks away, glaring into his own lap. “…I honestly don’t know. There’s the whole situation with my past, and now Leo has come into the mix, and Dad’s opinion is important to me, but…God, I miss him so much.”

“It sounds more to me like you’re clinging to what little pieces of him you have left.” North says bluntly, and the next thing Markus knows, he’s gawking at her. Her expression is strangely relaxed. “You don’t trust Leo with them because you don’t think he values them as much as you do. You and your brother have a lot of shit to work out, yet. And I don’t think it hinges just on the fact that he was an addict for a long time.”

Markus wants to question her…or himself. Whichever it is. How is this distant part of his mind so much wiser than he is? How does Markus know what his jumbled thoughts all add up to while he also doesn’t all at the same time? Why is he so confused? Why is he so conflicted? Why is he seemingly the only one he knows with this kind of inner turmoil?

Darkness suddenly swells around Markus and pulls him out of his thoughts. A beeping fills the air around him, and when he reorients himself, his jaw drops.

He recognizes the darkness of the hospital room. Recognizes his father lying in the bed. The beeping of the monitor nearby. How his breathing rattles from the bed. Carl is unmoving, comatose at this point, and Markus hates how vivid the memory is. He can feel the chill in the air of the room, and he can hear the howling of the wind against the nearby windowpanes. He can smell the faint minty scent of the mouth swabs the nurses have been using on Carl's unconscious form.

In the instance the memory depicts, Markus was all curled up in a hospital recliner next to Carl, his legs pulled up onto the seat and his hands distracted with his phone. He would spare glances over at Carl as if one look away would be the end of his life.

But this Markus…this one is rooted to the spot at the foot of Carl's bed. He can't bring himself to move. He’s afraid to revisit his father. If he does, he might just end up right back at square one. It’s taken a long time for him to get as far as he is, now.

This whole thing feels like some sort of cruel game his mind is playing on him, and the more Markus thinks about it, the less surprised he would be by that situation. After all, his fucked up head has no problem displaying images of his waterlogged childhood self or a dying fish to him. Why not remind him how the night his father died went?

Because clearly, that's exactly what Markus needs.

The hospital room's door opens, and just like when it had actually happened, Markus gets his hopes up. He remembers having sent Leo a text message, and then calling him. He remembers hoping his brother would arrive in time to say goodbye. He remembers begging and praying that he didn’t have to do this alone.

But just like when it had happened, Kamski steps in instead of Leo. He's got his hair back in a bun, his face freshly shaven, and he looks the example of clean and proper. But his face, just as Markus remembers it, is so tired.

Elijah and Carl had been good friends, after all. Markus knows how hard this has been on him, too.

Just like before, Elijah walks right to the other side of Carl's bed and kneels down. He places a hand on Carl's face, retracts his hand with a sharp gasp, and then leans down to rest his own forehead against his friend's. He whispers something unintelligible.

And then he stands up, and Markus noticed that his gait is shaky at best. He feels weak at the sight of such a normally composed man so close to cracking.

“Where's Leo?”

Markus shakes his head, just like he did when it happened. He can't bring himself to put it into words.

Kamski opens his mouth to speak, but he freezes halfway. He seems to ponder his next words, before he approaches and places a hand on Markus’ shoulder. He leans in close, toward his ear, and whispers as if his words are meant for Markus and Markus alone.

“That’s why it bothers you, isn’t it?” Elijah questions, and even though the pitch and tune of the man’s voice are just like him, Markus knows the voice isn’t his own. He freezes, haunted by the realization, as Elijah keeps speaking. “You had to do it all on your own. Even when your father was diagnosed, Leo was making himself scarce. Even seeing how weak Carl was getting, Leo chose not to be around. And on the night Carl took his last breath, none of your phone calls would get through to him. You watched your father die, alone, and then you bucked up and took care of his memorial and cremation yourself as well.”

Markus glances down at the ground. He doesn’t recall when it started, but there’s suddenly water pooling in the room. It’s gathering at the soles of his shoes, rising steadily.

“I’m so proud of you,” Carl’s voice fills the room, and Markus instantly feels sick to his stomach. He looks back up to see his father sitting upright in his bed, just smiling at him. This isn’t fair. The dead don’t come back to life. The dead don’t talk. No matter what the purpose of this hallucination is, it’s just too cruel.

“Stop—” Markus tries, but his father cuts him off. The water rises over the toes of his shoes, soaking through.

“You’re strong, Markus. But strength isn’t invincibility.” Carl sounds just like Markus remembers him sounding, and it hurts. He drops to his knees, his eyes wide with despair, as he watches the old man speak to him. Kamski disappears from the room altogether. “You’ve got a lot on your plate. You’re haunted, and my death seems to have been the trigger that pulled you into this mess. But if you want to know the truth, I believe a part of letting me go is letting your grudge against Leo go.”

“Dad…” Markus is panicking. His chest feels tight, and his throat feels thinner. It’s like he’s trying to breathe through a stirring straw. On top of that, the water is midway up his thigh by now, and it’s cold. Markus is shaking.

“You don’t have to forgive him, and you don’t have to love him,” Carl presses on, ever the wise old man that he is. “But you do need to honor my will and give the boy the things he’s entitled to. Once that’s done and over with, there’s no going back. You just move forward.”

_“Are you walking toward something? Or away from something?”_

Markus’ gaze drops to the ground. He feels cold and drained. Anemic, almost. Sick. Tired. Done. So, so very done. It’s been new thing after new thing, and is the way to fix it _really_ as simple as this?

He doubles over and plants his forehead on the cold hospital floor. His hands find either side of his head, and he screams. The water surrounds his form and muffles his voice around a swarm of bubbles. He curses, begging his own head to set him free from this nonstop sea of hallucinations. He’s done…he wants to be done. His body feels like it’s about to overflow with anxiety, and Markus isn’t sure if he can handle that.

And then, even through closed eyelids, Markus can see that everything has gone white. He opens his eyes and sits up just in time to watch the water level drop. Translucent blue fades to nothing, leaving pure white in its wake. The ground is white, and the surroundings are white. Just endless white. And lying in front of a now-soaked Markus is that fish. Flopping, glubbing, its eye unmoving as it waits for its impending death to come.

“It may not look like much on the outside…” A familiar voice…Connor. “but it’s a lot to try and handle for yourself.”

Markus looks up, and there Connor is, big heavy coat and honey-tea eyes in all their glory. His hands are folded behind his back, but he drops them to his sides as he takes a couple of steps toward Markus and his grounded fish. Markus watches him crouch and reach out to pick up the fish. He’s holding it in two cupped hands as he cocks his head to the side and smiles almost fondly at it. “The book you lent me…it’s very interesting. It’s a little complicated, but it’s mysterious, and the main character…I ache for him to come to a resolution.”

Markus is utterly awestruck. His eyes are wide as he watches Connor. He glows, even in the utter whiteness of this room. He stands out. He’s so damned beautiful.

Connor gets to his feet, and he nods at Markus. “Let’s get this little guy back to safety.”

And then the wind kicks up, and Markus snaps awake. He’s sitting with his back propped up against a brick wall, his vision blurry and his mind a little disoriented. He brings a hand to an aching spot on his head and his fingers come back bloody.

“Easy, there…” Markus recognizes his brother’s voice instantly. He can make out the blurry outline of Leo’s face and his thick hair. “You got your head pretty good and you were out cold for a while, so I called 911.”

Well, that explains it. Markus wasn’t hallucinating. He was having a damned nightmare. God, his head hurts.

“They should be here pretty quick. How are you feeling?”

Markus wants to answer normally. To do as his father wanted and move on. But it’s as if when he has clarity in his vision again, the anger and frustration toward Leo resurfaces, and the next thing he knows, he has shoved himself off the wall and lunged, rearing a fist back and slamming it hard into Leo’s face.

Blood flies, the hit instantly dealing damage, and Markus lands atop his brother on the sidewalk, taking the front of Leo’s shirt into two fists.

“Where _were_ you!?” He roars, picking Leo up by his shirt and slamming him back down onto the concrete. “Why weren’t you there!? I _needed_ my brother, and you weren’t there!”

There are a lot of things Markus doesn’t realize. Like the way he’s in tears, or how speechless Leo is as he stares up at him, or the security officers sprinting out of a nearby building to break up the fight. He’s blacked out again, as far as he concerned, anger and despair and loneliness finally settling in and wrenching him down to the core of the earth.

\--- --- --- --- ---

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

Hank’s voice is unwelcome with Markus’ pounding headache. He’s gruff by nature and his voice sounds like nails on sandpaper, so it isn’t like he can help it, but right now, the last thing Markus wants to hear is any kind of noise. He just wants to go back to his father’s house, lie down on the couch, and sleep until the water comes back on at his apartment.

But here he is, sitting in the back parking lot of the very restaurant he had attacked Leo in front of, with a paramedic unit and two police officers. They’ve already surveyed him for injuries. Told him he’s likely got himself a concussion, but he should be fine otherwise. They’ve bandaged his head, all the while lecturing him that he’s lucky he didn’t need stitches. And now, while they help Leo with the injuries Markus induced upon him, Hank stands next to Markus, who is seated on the curb not far from the vehicles, his arms crossed and a look of frustration and disapproval on his face.

“It used to be every time I ran into trouble, it was for Connor. Now, it’s either him or it’s you.” Hank sighs. “The hell were you fighting your brother for? Can’t the two of you duke it out at home, where strangers don’t call the cops on you?”

Markus looks away. He does regret having lashed out, but he’s still furious. He still has things to say. He doesn’t expect Hank to understand, because Hank wasn’t there. His voice is soft as he speaks up. “It’s not that simple. I know I shouldn’t have hit him, but…” He raises a hand to his face and drags it slowly down to his chin. “There’s a lot I’ve got to work on, and my grudge against him is one of those things.”

“Yeah, well,” Hank grunts, “you might wanna get a jump on that. You’re lucky it was me they dispatched. Otherwise, you’d have ended up at the station filling out paperwork you don’t want on your record. You don’t look like a scrappy little brat, so you shouldn’t act like one.”

“Yeah, I know…you’re right.” Markus sighs. God, his head hurts. “Thanks, Hank.”

“You’re thanking me for lecturing you?” When Markus looks up at Hank, his expression is one of genuine surprise, before he scoffs and shakes his head. “That’s a new one. Good on you, kid. Anyway, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Markus doesn’t look away from him. He just waits for him to continue speaking.

“This shit you say you’ve gotta work on,” Hank starts, eyebrows raised and blue eyes half-lidded. Markus suddenly feels small under that gaze. “You chose to get involved with Connor while whatever this shit is was happening. If he ends up paying for your tomfuckery, I don’t have a damn problem going from Officer to Prisoner. Do I make myself clear?”

Markus strangely understands that. Hank’s concerned about Connor. He doesn’t know what’s going on in Markus’ life, so he’s telling him to watch what he does. Lucky for both him and Markus, Markus couldn’t imagine hurting a hair on Connor’s head, and he doesn’t think any of his struggling will get to that point anyway.

“Crystal, Sir.”

“Good,” Hank nods in satisfaction, before he motions toward Leo, who has been cleared by the paramedics. His nose looks a lot like Markus’ did the night he’d been on the receiving end of a punch, but other than that, he’s fine. A little on the grouchy side, but Markus doesn’t blame him. “Now, go home and talk with your brother. Get your shit straight.”

\--- --- --- --- ---

By the time all the police and medical reports are taken care of, the afternoon has worked its way into early evening. North has long-since texted Markus to let him know they have water again, so he and Leo head back for his home. When they arrive, North, Simon, Josh, Daniel, and Connor are all there. They’re gathered on the couch, and judging by the looks of concern on all their faces, they have an idea of what’s happened. They all look like deer in headlights right now, with their ears all perked up and eyes wide, waiting for answers.

Markus lets out a sigh. “Give us a minute, alright? We’ll explain in a bit.”

He doesn’t expect anyone to argue. Connor and North look genuinely worried, but other than that, they all seem patient enough to give Markus and Leo the time they need. Markus thanks them and motions for Leo to follow him through the kitchen. He snags two blue Powerades and tosses one to Leo, before they head outside and onto the balcony.

Leo pulls the door shut behind them and releases a sigh. He’s the first to speak up. “I…really pissed you off, didn’t I?”

Yeah, Leo. You did. But Markus knows they both know that much already, so he doesn’t spend much time dwelling on that part. Instead, he moves forward and leans against the railing of the balcony, staring over at the ground below.

“Why the car?”

Markus glances over in time to see Leo shrug, before he joins his brother leaned up against the rail. “I guess I just thought it would be easier for you to part with.”

Markus feels angry again. His head is throbbing, so he brings a hand up to the side of it, before he downs a big swig of Powerade. He shoots his brother a tired glare. “The car isn't part of the will, Leo. It was a gift from Dad when I started having to take him to appointments and such. If you think I’m giving it up, you’re out of your damned mind.”

Leo looks defeated, and he releases a sigh. “I didn’t realize it held that kind of meaning for you. I just…I know we're looking at a big fucking debate. The house is in the will, Markus. The piano, all of his possessions…”

“Look,” Markus narrows his eyes, “none of this is gonna be easy to decide on, but the split is going to be fifty-fifty. I’m not going to screw you over, but we need to discuss this during a time that I _don't_ want to beat the hell out of you.”

Leo's shoulders slump. “I’m sorry I offended you.”

“You didn't just _offend_ me,” Markus snaps. “This is about more than Dad's car. I’m mad at you because you were _gone._ ”

Leo blinks, clearly shocked, before he takes a nervous drink. He seems to be waiting for Markus to continue.

“I had to watch Dad die alone,” Markus clarifies. “I can deal with taking him to his appointments and caring for him, but you couldn’t even show up to say goodbye to him? Nothing says ‘screw you' like a disappearing act.”

Markus is staring ahead again, but he can almost feel Leo frowning at him. He continues anyway. “It wasn’t some heartfelt movie scene. Dad slipped into a coma overnight. He didn’t hold my hand and tell me he loved me as he took his last breath. That’s not what dying looks like.”

Markus bites his lip and glares down into the open mouth of his Powerade bottle. “Dad spiked a fever that he held clear until he died, so he was clammy. At first, his breathing was normal, but as his last couple of days went on, he started to rattle, like he was drowning. His skin was red, and then it was green, and then it was _gray_ , and when he got closer, his body would pulse, as if every breath was a physical exertion.”

When Markus glances up, he sees that Leo's complexion has paled. He doesn’t feel guilty. He just keeps speaking. “There were no nurses in the room when Dad died. They only knew it happened because I watched it happen and wailed like a baby. I sat in that room for days, by my father’s side in his final hours, trying to convince myself that I could do it on my own, because I didn’t have a choice. I called you so many times, and not once did you answer.”

He swallows the last of his Powerade, then screws the cap on resolutely. His eyes fall shut as he throws in one last detail. “I'll never forgive you for that, Leo. But I’m done being angry. I’m done with this weird, awkward game of avoiding each other you and I have going. I’m fixing the fucked up mess that is my life, and it would be nice to have my brother in it.”

Leo doesn’t speak for the longest time. Markus honestly doesn’t blame him. And maybe he doesn’t expect a response. He’s more worried about getting on with the night. His friends are all in the living room waiting for an explanation. He’s got to do that and then he plans on sleeping off this headache.

Despite that, when Leo speaks, he gives him his attention.

“Two nights before you called me,” Leo explains, biting hard on his lip, “I was doing real bad, y’know? So strung out I couldn’t even find my way back to my apartment. So I’m wandering around, puking every now and then. My head is spinning and I can't really see straight. I’ve got no idea where I am, when all of a sudden, I trip over something.”

Markus frowns, but Leo keeps talking. “I’m uncoordinated as shit, so I fall flat on my face. Turn over to see what I tripped over, and it's a fucking _body_. Some middle-aged sorry sack of shit who smelled like he hadn’t had a bath in years. Like he used himself as a fucking toilet. But he was _dead_ , Markus. I sobered up real fucking quick at the sight of that and found my way back home.”

Markus notices, as Leo keeps speaking, that his hands are shaking. “And then you start calling me. Blowing up my phone, leaving messages about how Dad doesn’t have much longer and you could really use my company. A-and all I could picture was that body. It was selfish, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t see Dad looking like that guy.”

Leo sniffles there. “Maybe if I’d have been using my brain instead of snorting coke until I couldn’t function, I’d have realized I could have confided in you about what happened.” He sighs shakily. “I checked into rehab the day after Dad's memorial. I’ve been clean ever since. I don’t want to disappoint him anymore. I…I want another chance.”

Markus falters. He doesn’t think that, in all the years he has known Leo, he has ever heard the man beg like that. And now, it also makes sense why he had given the speech he had at the memorial. Why he had panicked when the urn had been knocked over on the night they scattered Carl's ashes.

Which reminds Markus…

“Leo?”

“Hmm?”

Markus bites his lip. “The night we scattered Dad's ashes…was it raining?”

Leo frowns deeply. “…We scattered Dad's ashes three months ago. It was snowing. Why?”

Markus releases a long sigh. “I’ll explain everything once I know where to start. For now,” he turns to face his brother, “you should go home. Give me a couple of days to get my head on straight and we'll meet up and work out Dad's will. I may be furious with you, and I don’t frankly want to give you any of it, but I respect my father's wishes. I’m not going to leave you hanging any longer.”

Leo doesn’t seem to want to argue anymore. He just nods in understanding and opens up the balcony door again. Markus feels the tiniest ounce of pity in the way nobody says anything as he crosses the living room and leaves the apartment. They just stare, clearly confused.

Markus knows he promised an explanation too, but he's tired. He's done talking about it. He'll explain in more detail another day, but for now, he just tells everyone he got pissed off and lunged at Leo, and that his head is pounding and he's going to lie down for a while.

He shuts the door behind himself and strips down into a pair of pajama pants and a black tank top. His phone, still in his pants pocket, buzzes, so Markus crouches and withdraws it. He instantly smiles.

_[Connor]_

_4:59 PM_

_To be honest, I’m tired too. Can I nap with you?_

Markus needs his space, yeah, but not from Connor, and not from his friends. He needs his space from functioning for the day. He just wants to rest. That in mind, he replies to Connor's text right away.

_[Markus]_

_5:00 PM_

_Only because you asked nicely. Get in here._

He's in the middle of tying the string on his pajama pants when Connor steps into the room and shuts the door behind him. He leans back against it and smiles softly.

“You must be planning to stay in bed the rest of the day,” Connor teases lightly as he glances at Markus’ pajamas. “Have you taken anything for your head?”

Markus shakes his head. “Didn't really think about it. I’ve had a lot on my mind, you know?”

Connor tips his head to the side curiously. “You definitely have. Should I have not sent you my text from last night?”

Markus makes his way to his closet and fishes out a pair of pajama pants and a sweater for Connor, then tosses them his way. “No, you did fine. You made a good point. I think it kind of…helped me get where I got today.”

Connor frowns, holding the clothes in both arms, and then he glares down at the lump of fabric. “That doesn’t make me feel any better. You got a concussion out of today.”

“That wasn’t because of you, Connor,” Markus laughs. Come to think of it, he only explained how Leo got his bloody nose. He hadn’t bothered to tell anyone why the side of his head was currently bandaged. “I tripped while running and knocked myself out on a wall.”

Connor's frown deepens. “Jesus, Markus…”

Markus takes a seat on the edge of the bed. “Leo popped off with something stupid, so I ran off for some fresh air. I knocked myself out and had this…crazy, messed up dream.” He smiles at Connor. “You were in it. You were kind of perverted, too.”

“Excuse me?” Connor laughs.

Markus just shrugs. “I…I think I get the dream. It was almost like I was hallucinating again. And halfway through, I started getting the feeling like my mind was telling me something.”

He remembers how his mind had let him speak to Connor and North and his own father. How he had been told, or told himself rather, to figure out how to move on. And even though he and Leo haven’t worked on splitting assets yet, the acknowledgement that it’s happening soon is already giving Markus some sense of relief.

Once it’s over with, he can focus fully on the repressed memories that he has been dealing with. He’s slowly working his way toward being able to paint again. Toward being able to move on with his life. But he still hasn’t looked at that chart…

He makes a mental note to do that when he wakes up, and then continues speaking. “I don’t think my head is out to get me as much as I believed it was. I think I can beat this, Connor. And I have you to help me get there.”

When Markus glances back at Connor, the other man is smiling widely, his expression lit up with nothing short of warmth. “You absolutely do.”

And as per usual, the two come together perfectly. Connor pulls himself up against Markus and nuzzles his chest, and Markus curls an arm around his frame. His eyes fall shut, and they both go silent as they prepare to rest for the next handful of hours.

Markus is just about asleep when he feels Connor shift back a little. His eyes flick open and he sees that Connor is looking up at him. A curious smile forms on his lips as Markus watches him.

“Technically, you’re not supposed to sleep if you have a concussion,” Connor points out. “They say you can die in your sleep.”

Markus scoffs. “That's a myth.”

Connor smiles, very obviously aware of that fact. “But what if it's not? What if you go to sleep and never wake up? North would _kill_ you.”

“You came in here to take a nap with me,” Markus reminds playfully, “but you’re keeping me awake.”

Connor chuckles a little, raising a hand up to Markus’ chest. He runs his fingertips down along Markus' front, making him shudder somewhat with interest. “I’m just saying, maybe you should give yourself a little time to recover before you slip off into another crazy dream, yeah?”

“Is that so?” Markus teases lightly. “I think you just want my attention.”

“Is that what you think?” The question just barely has time to register in Markus' head before he feels himself being pushed onto his back by a hand suddenly flattened out on his chest. He looks up just in time for Connor to straddle him. “Even if I am, I’ve earned the right to be. I haven't seen you all day, and we're basically a couple, so…”

“ _Basically_?” Markus raises an eyebrow.

Connor just shrugs. “Well, you haven't made it official yet.”

Markus' heart does a backflip. He supposes he shouldn't be so pleasantly shocked that Connor actually _wants_ to declare their relationship official, but here he is. He scoffs again. “ _I_ have to make it official?”

Connor leans forward and plants his hands on Markus' chest. He's grinning impishly, just like when he had questioned Markus about what Gavin had said to him. “You heard me. Go on, or don’t you want to?”

Oh, Markus wants to. He has for quite some time now. His heart is pounding, excitement working its way through his body, though thankfully not visibly.

Either way, he steels himself and folds his hands behind his head, smirking up at the man atop him. “Connor Stern, will you be my boyfriend?”

Connor pauses, and for a moment, Markus swears he sees Connor's cheeks flush pink. But just as soon as he notices it, Connor bursts out laughing.

“You made it sound like a marriage proposal!”

Markus is on the verge of getting defensive, opening his mouth to speak, when he sees Connor shift his hands from his chest to the mattress on either side of his head. He's smiling, but there’s something else there. Something Markus can't quite read.

“Markus Manfred,” Connor lilts, grinning coyly, “yes, I’ll be your boyfriend.” He picks one hand up and brushes a thumb along Markus’ bottom lip. “Now, let's consummate it.”

Markus knows he looks ridiculous, with his eyes wide, practically bugging out of his skull. If anyone had just made this sound like a marriage, it was Connor. Consummation? Jesus Christ…

But then, Connor gently pops Markus on the cheek and flops back over, moving to snuggle up against his chest once more. “I’m teasing, Markus. I know you’re tired. Let’s get some rest.”

How in the hell is Markus supposed to rest after something like that? Connor is the human embodiment of whiplash. Markus doesn’t even know what to think. But despite that, he pulls his new boyfriend in close and lets his eyes fall shut.

He’ll deal with it when he wakes up later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just gonna put it out there: the next chapter is the 'smut chapter'. Meaning probably not a whole lot of story advancement, but we're finally getting to them actually doing the do. Hope you guys are looking forward to it as much as the rest of the story lmfao.
> 
> As always, I really do appreciate all your comments and kudos and bookmarks. I thrive on feedback, so please let me know what you think! Thank you so much for giving this a read! ; w;


	11. loose ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this was supposed to be like a purely smut-ridden chapter with no real story progression, but I cannot be stopped. Also, 15k words??? What the fuck, stop me guys!
> 
> In any case, I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> A quick warning: there is marijuana use in this chapter, and also mentions of vomit.

After all that happened, Markus feels refreshed waking up. His head still hurts, but he’s been able to rest off most of the stress from the day, and he’s now lying with his new boyfriend, one Connor Stern, who is still fast asleep next to him. Markus is on his back, with Connor sleeping on his arm. He's got one hand draped lazily over Markus' chest, and he frankly looks like he belongs there. His hair covers his forehead in messy wisps, and his eyelashes look so very long from this angle.

For the millionth time, Markus observes the fact that he is absolutely beautiful. He finds himself thinking back to all that had happened. That night at the bar, and that setup from his friends. The way they had spent the night out on the town together. A kiss he had forgotten in his own fragile memory. A new kiss. Many new kisses. The thought brings a sort of lopsided grin to his lips.

They’re officially together. And while a lot more has happened in between all of that, Markus feels stronger knowing he has Connor by his side. A part of him knows Connor established the relationship between them as a comfort measure. That he had suggested they make it official so Markus would know he isn’t going anywhere. That same part of him melts at the very thought. He adores Connor. He's got no need to deny that he’s utterly infatuated with him.

He has reason to believe Connor feels a similar way too. He can’t begin to understand why else Connor would be by his side, at least. The man had started out as his model and ended up his boyfriend.

Connor stirs and pulls Markus from his thoughts. He glances down just in time to hear the sharp inhale of Connor waking up. Brown eyes flutter open and gaze about dreamily until Connor tips his head up and meets Markus’ stare. His lips curl into a smile and Markus swears he sees those cheeks flush pink.

“You’re daydreaming, aren't you?” he teases softly. His hand flattens out on Markus' chest.

“I’m just thinking,” Markus responds easily. He doesn’t realize it, but his fingers are tracing little circles along Connor's shoulder.

Connor chuckles, his voice grainy with sleep. “You could have just said yes. We both know that's what you meant. So,” he turns his head up and smiles, “what were you daydreaming about?”

Markus shrugs. “Nothing in particular. Just…the way things have gone over the past month or so.”

Connor scoffs softly. “It _has_ been a pretty crazy month, huh?”

Markus nods. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Connor looks up at him once more, and then shifts so that he can press a kiss to Markus' shoulder. Markus sees the way he looks up at him after and he feels something like a burst of soothing warmth in the pit of his stomach. Connor still looks so tired, but he also looks so damned good. His hair is a little messy and his eyes a bit hazy, his face dreamy.

Markus can't stop the goofy smile that forms on his own lips, to which Connor laughs.

“What?” the younger man questions.

“What was that for?” Markus clarifies, and Connor just grins.

“We're official, now,” he explains simply. “I can be affectionate all I want.”

Markus thinks he wants to retort playfully, but Connor kisses his collarbone this time, and the shudder his muscles force upon him there rips any response back down his throat. As those lips creep up along his neck and to his jaw, Markus remembers the Connor in his dream earlier. The one who had crawled into his lap and kissed him. He realizes as their lips meet that the real thing is so much better.

Connor kisses softly, and yet passionately. He's all smooth, suave motions and lingering contact. There's no chasteness to the way he moves. Markus barely has time to register that Connor is practically atop him, because he's still trying to process just how those lips can part and fall shut in so perfectly against his own.

He can’t stop his arms from coming up and around his new boyfriend's frame. Connor is so slender, and as the younger man moves to lie completely on top of him, Markus notices that they fit together almost like the last piece of a puzzle and the sense of completion that follows. Before he knows what he's doing, he has tipped his head into the kiss, his tongue sliding out and along Connor's lower lip.

Connor pants softly into the kiss and Markus swallows down a groan in response to the sound. He feels the way Connor's legs spread around his waist. Chokes down another moan when Connor sucks his lower lip into his mouth.

“Markus…” he huffs as he releases the older man's lip. He pushes himself upright and flattens his hands against Markus' chest. Bravely, he ruts himself down against Markus, and Markus outright grunts in response. Before he can stop himself, he's got his hands on Connor's thighs and they’re rolling their hips against one another, panting and moaning in response to a delicious friction.

The room is silent, save for their voices, as they continue to move together in the darkness. Impatiently, Markus pulls Connor down to kiss him once more, and Connor cups either side of his head in the process. The wet sounds of their mouths moving together fill the room, as Markus slides his hands around and into the back of the pajama pants he lent Connor, and uses a new grip on his ass to pull him down against him.

When Connor whimpers in approval, Markus knows he's gone. He hooks an arm around Connor's thigh, flipping them over until he’s lying atop him, and leans in to close his lips around Connor's neck. Connor's mouth falls open and he lets spill a low, quivering sigh that only pushes Markus further.

Connor seems just as gone as he is, too. He impatiently tugs at the tank top Markus is wearing until the older man shrugs it off and casts it aside. Soon enough, Markus is doing the same. He pushes Connor's shirt up and over his head, and then tips his head to close his lips on his boyfriend's collarbone. Connor pants in approval and rakes his fingers down along Markus' back.

How long has this been coming? In Markus’ mind, he thinks a while. The two have shared a bed for nearly the entire past month. Looking back, it’s a bit of a surprise they haven’t already gotten to this point. Either way, it’s perfect and Markus isn’t complaining. All he can think about is how perfect Connor feels beneath him and how he wants more.

As his lips find Connor’s again, Markus slides his hands down and takes hold of the waistband of his boyfriend’s pajama pants. He pulls them down and slides a flattened-out hand along the other man’s front. His fingers curl around Connor, pumping him slowly, trying to work him to full arousal, but Connor stops him. Markus notices the younger man’s fingers are trembling around his wrist. Instantly, he pulls back and looks into his partner’s eyes, visibly concerned.

“Are you alright?” Markus questions, letting go.

Connor just smiles at him. “Of course, never better. I just…we _did_ this part already. I want _you_ , Markus.”

When they had started kissing, Markus wasn’t sure what he had expected. They had just fallen into motion together the last time. There had been no technicality to it. Their mouths had just moved and their hands had just roamed, and they had worked each other to completion. Markus hadn’t really been giving thought this time around to just _what_ would happen. Though, considering the paths their relationship has taken as of late, it makes sense to be a little more prepared.

But Markus _isn’t_ prepared. When was the last time he actually had sex?

Oh god, now _that’s_ an embarrassing thought. What with his father’s illness and his passing and the depression that followed, Markus hasn’t really had any desire to engage in a romantic relationship, let alone a _sexual_ one. How Connor has managed to worm his way in and change that so drastically is beyond Markus.

Not that he’s complaining. The erection straining his pajama pants makes that perfectly clear.

Unless you count the fact that he has literally zero physical preparation available. Lube, condoms, he doesn’t have any of it, and that’s _definitely_ something to complain about right now.

“You can’t have _me_ , yet,” Markus presses a kiss to Connor’s jaw and moves to lie next to his boyfriend, propping himself up on his elbow. “I have to go to the store, first.”

Connor wrinkles his nose. “ _That’s_ sexy.”

Markus shoves him playfully. “Look, just let me do what I can for now, and we’ll work on third base later.”

Connor outright laughs. “You’re talking like we’re in high school.” Either way, he pulls Markus atop him once more and kisses him again. “Just quit running your mouth and come here.”

Soon enough, they’re making out again, panting against one another’s lips, their bodies rocking together. At some point in time, they’ve shed their pants, and Connor has resorted to curling a leg around one of Markus’. They’re rutting against one another freely, now, with no words or no teasing to propel them forward or push them back.

Amidst their movements, Markus feels Connor’s hand slide down along his right arm until his fingers are brushing against the older man’s hand. “Hey, Markus…are you right-handed?”

“I’m ambidextrous,” Markus answers simply, and when Connor outright moans, he finds himself a little confused.

“Of course you would be,” he whispers, as if those words are reserved for just the two of them. He laces his fingers with Markus’, and guides that hand up to his chin, before he separates their fingers and takes two of Markus’ into his mouth.

Markus hates how perversely _good_ that sight looks. How Connor can look at him just _so_ , with two fingers in his mouth, and elicit a moan from him with the way his tongue slides along the long digits. Markus isn’t stupid, either. He knows what Connor wants. He knows what his boyfriend is implying. And when those fingers leave his mouth and Connor guides that hand back down between their bodies, Markus can’t help but moan out of sheer anticipation.

Connor just spreads his legs and captures Markus’ lips again. Markus’ fingertips are cold from the saliva cooling on them, and he likes the slickness he feels from it as he drags those fingers down along Connor’s middle. The contrast between the cool liquid and the heat of their bodies must feel nice, because Connor lets out a soft sigh and breaks off the kiss to roll his head sideways onto his pillow.

Markus watches the way Connor’s eyes fall half-lidded as he teases at his entrance, and bites back an impatient noise of his own when he pushes one finger in and Connor outright whimpers. Markus wants to praise him. Wants to tell him how damned gorgeous he looks right now, all spread out for him, face flushed, lips swollen from heated kissing. Connor’s eyes are hazy, his hands splayed out at his sides, and when he steals glances at Markus, they’re always impatient ones.

“ _More_ , Markus…” Connor demands softly, but somehow also harshly. How does he manage that? He rolls his hips down, and Markus straight up groans at the feeling of more heat being pushed onto his finger. He bites his lip hard, and curls the finger. Pumps into the other man a few times.

God, he wishes he had been more prepared. Still, the thought of making Connor come apart because of him is almost as enticing.

Before he knows it, he’s got Connor writhing beneath him. He’s got two fingers buried deep inside of the younger man, twisting his wrist, curling his fingers upward, and Connor is stifling moans in his own forearm. Markus uses his free hand to pull that forearm away, and _damn it_ , he wishes he was able to take this all the way right now. Connor’s a mess, his face beet red, saliva pooling at the corner of his mouth, his back arching and legs spread wide. He’s the polar opposite of the composure Markus has seen in him time and time again.

When he comes, it’s as he pulls Markus down for a series of messy, erratic kisses. Nothing like the well-timed, languid kisses he had stolen before things had gotten heated. He moans right into Markus’ mouth and rides his fingers shamelessly, before he goes limp, spent, on the mattress, his orgasm in scattered puddles across the length of his torso.

“Okay, fine…” Connor pants, smiling through the obvious afterglow on his face. “I’ll let your lack of preparedness slide this once.”

He takes both of Markus' hands into his own and laces their fingers, before he rolls and moves to straddle him. “But,” he teases as he dips down and presses a kiss to Markus’ jaw, “I’m going to motivate you to be ready for me next time.”

This is the same Connor from Markus’ memories. This is the Connor who had directed Markus on that walk. The Connor who had dragged him into hamburger jail. The Connor who had stubbornly declared that he was going to wear one of Markus’ hoodies to help make Markus’ sketch feel more natural. This is the Connor who had walked alongside his more sweet, kind, thoughtful self and guided himself right into Markus’ heart.

This is the Connor who has saved Markus from himself for over a month, now.

Markus knows exactly what’s coming, but with those words echoing in his mind, every little gesture feels exciting. Every gentle kiss on his skin, every wayward flick of Connor’s tongue. His long, slender fingers are so soft on Markus’ skin as they roam downward, and before he knows it, Connor has suddenly got Markus’ cock in his mouth and his head is falling back onto the pillow.

Like everything else Connor does, he does this with passion. He knows it’s Markus he’s trying to please, and it shows. Between the way Connor’s hands tease Markus’ thighs and the swirling of his tongue around the tip of Markus’ erection, he almost can’t see straight. But then, Connor bobs down and flattens his tongue along the underside as he does, which ups the ante and sends Markus into a series of low, pleasured moans and dizzyingly ragged breaths.

It’s pure, heated desire to propel Markus over the edge from the start. Connor bobs all the way down, hesitates, comes back up, sucks and hums, and then repeats the gesture. He’s got Markus so focused on what he’s doing that he can’t stop himself from dragging his hands down and burying his fingers in his boyfriend’s hair. It takes every ounce of self-control Markus has to keep from bucking up into Connor’s mouth.

“Jesus…Connor…” He moans, his fingers stammering in the younger man’s hair. Connor doesn’t seem to protest. He just keeps working, drawing Markus closer and closer to release.

In the end, it’s the way Connor looks up at him that does him in. Pleasured beyond control, Markus makes the mistake of looking down his torso just as Connor looks _up_ , and the way those brown eyes are staring at him, he’s done. Connor doesn’t even have to say it. His eyes bore into Markus’ and make the statement all on their own.

_Come for me, Markus._

And he does. God, he does. Amidst a series of low, breathy, panting moans, he comes right into his boyfriend’s mouth, his hips snapping up and stammering as he rides out his orgasm. By the time the last few waves of pleasure have washed over and his mind grows foggy afterward, his hands are shaking.

It really _has_ been a long time. Markus can’t even remember the last time he touched _himself_ , let alone let anyone other than Connor touch him.

Connor sits up and wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. His lips are swollen and his hair is even more messy than it was before he had woken up. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes still a little hazy, and he’s so goddamned beautiful that Markus almost wants to get up and start drawing that very image.

“You’re…Jesus, Connor,” Markus pushes himself up into a sitting position and pulls his new boyfriend into a kiss. He doesn’t care that he can taste himself on Connor’s tongue. He’s just so completely blown away right now, and kissing is about all he can do to show his appreciation in the moment.

“Connor Stern, actually,” Connor corrects amidst a tease, before he pushes himself up off the bed and moves to stand up. “Anyway, let’s take a shower together so I can look at your head.”

…Right. The concussion Markus was said to have gotten when he took off earlier. He’d almost forgotten. He supposes Connor’s got a point, there. It probably isn’t a terrible idea to stop and give it a look-see. Plus, Markus gets a nice relaxing shower out of the mix.

He finds himself sitting on the toilet a few moments later, with Connor pulling at the medical tape and gauze that has been planted on the side of his head. Connor hisses a little once the bandage is removed.

“…Is it that bad?” Markus questions, momentarily alarmed.

“I don’t think so,” Connor responds thoughtfully, pulling back just a little. “They didn’t have to stitch it up, but you still got yourself pretty good. Just what were you doing that you collided with a wall hard enough to knock yourself out?”

He almost sounds amused, and Markus feels a little embarrassed in response. He reaches up and cups the back of his neck in his hand as he gazes down at the ground. “I was just…really mad at Leo. I took off. I needed some air, you know?”

“You ran to get air?”

“It felt good in the moment,” Markus explains without missing a beat. “It was relaxing. Made me feel free. Uninhibited. It felt like just what I needed. Does that make sense?”

“Actually,” Connor crosses his arms and leans back against the sink, “it does. That’s why I started taking off on walks in the first place. I just…went exploring more than I took off running, yeah?”

“Well, it felt nice,” Markus replies with a laugh. “I’d even venture so far as to say it was worth everything that came after.”

He sees the curiosity on Connor’s face, and it compels him to open up about exactly what happened in the dream. As they shower together, he tells Connor everything. He tells him about how he showed up in his dream, and why exactly he’d called him a pervert. He tells him about his memory of his father dying, and about why he had lashed out at Leo like he had. He tells him about the time he’d proposed to North, and Connor laughs that popcorn laugh of his in response.

The only thing he can’t bring himself to tell the other man is the last bit. The part where Connor had shown up again. He doesn’t know exactly why, but he doesn’t feel like that’s something he should share. It’s something he still has a lot of thinking to do about.

But Connor seems content, anyway. He turns the water off and climbs out of the shower, passing Markus a towel in the process. They both dry off, and Markus plops back down on the toilet so Connor can re-bandage his head.

“You know what I just realized?” Connor teases as he presses gauze to the wound and starts taping it. “I have an excuse to spend a few nights with you. I get to play Doctor.”

Markus rolls his eyes and glances up at his boyfriend. “You know I can put bandages on my own head, right?”

“Hey, hey, hey—" Connor gestures wildly for him to stop talking with the waving of one hand. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

“You spend so much of your time calling me dramatic,” Markus frowns, though a smile works its way onto his lips not even seconds after. “Pot, meet kettle.”

“Real cute, Markus,” Connor retorts, “but I’m not the one who knocked myself out on a brick wall. Let me coddle you, already.”

Markus’ expression solidifies a bit. “You have work, and I have class.”

“I’ll commute. How else do you think I get to work and back?”

Markus frowns for a moment, and then he looks up at Connor with a small smile. “Why not take your driver’s test? My school’s within walking distance, so you can just borrow my car to get to and from work.”

Connor winces like he’d just stubbed his toe. “You know I can’t do that. This is the same car you threw yourself into a rage over Leo asking for.”

Okay, you know what? That’s absolutely fair. Markus doesn’t blame Connor for being a little afraid to drive the thing with that in mind. It isn’t like Markus would be giving the vehicle to him, but if something were to happen, Connor would never forgive himself, and Markus doubts he’d be able to just be okay with it, either.

“Are you still considering getting a car?” Markus wonders aloud, only slightly changing the subject.

“In the hopefully-not-so-distant future,” Connor replies simply. He steps back and makes his way into the bedroom to slip his borrowed pajama pants back on. He tugs on another of Markus’ hoodies, and the older man finds himself realizing they’re more Connor’s than his at this point. “But that costs money. That said, I still don’t mind commuting. I like spending time with you, and so long as that’s not a problem, I’d like to continue doing so.”

Markus just scoffs. “I don’t see myself getting tired of you any time soon, and if my friends do, I’ll just go stay with you for a while.”

“You absolutely do _not_ want to do that,” Connor replies with a laugh. “Don’t forget I live above a night club. The place gets pretty loud.”

For a moment, Markus notes the fact that the house is in the will. That if for some reason, he and Leo come to an agreement where he gets to keep the house, Connor could stay with him there as much as he wants. And maybe, if things keep working out as pleasantly as they have been, there might be a future when he and Connor actually live together in the house. Everyone has their differences, but Markus can’t foresee a time when he and Connor would ever not want to be around one another.

Maybe that’s a little too romantic of him, but…those are his feelings.

“We’ll figure something out,” Markus finally answers with a shrug, as he too gets up and starts throwing clothes on again. “For now, of course you can stay here. Play doctor, or watch me paint, or…” His words die on his tongue when he steps out and catches sight of the medical chart on his bedside table.

How in the hell does Markus keep forgetting about that chart? Lucy had told him to let her know what happens, whether he reads it or not, but he hasn’t honestly done anything about it. It’s true that he’s been busy, but at the same time, it’s sat there on his bedside table all this time, collecting dust.

Connor must see him staring at it, because he approaches and picks it up. He doesn’t open up the contents, but he does look up at Markus with it clutched between his fingers.

“Have you looked it over yet?”

Markus shakes his head.

Connor looks down at it. “Are you afraid to?”

“Honestly?” Markus shrugs. “I don’t know. I know that I want to, but…that’s my _past_ in there, you know?”

They both fall silent, Connor studying the outside of the folder as if it’s got all the answers and Markus pondering his next words, before the latter of the two clears his throat and opens his mouth to change the subject somewhat.

“I know I’m a mixture of both.”

Connor frowns deeply, very visibly confused. Markus just smiles. “I’m walking towards some things, and away from others.”

The realization hits Connor’s face, and Markus watches the questioning look on his face die down into a soft grin as we waits for clarification.

“I feel like your question from that night is a bit of a two-way street,” Markus explains. “I have to let go of things that happened into the past. I have to acknowledge that my father is dead, and that the world doesn’t stop just because his life did. Lucy said I don’t handle loss very well, and she thinks it has something to do with my past. Knowing my parents are both dead, I think that explains it all pretty well. So, I’m walking away from my trauma by facing it head-on. I’m walking away from the wall that’s been blocking me off for so long by confronting it. My past is the key to my future, so in order to get away, I have to go to it.”

He sees Connor’s expression light up. Brown eyes warm up and the honey tea floods into them and heats Markus right to the core. He melts at the sight, as Connor returns the chart to its spot on the bedside table and approaches. He slides his arms around Markus’ waist and buries his face in his shoulder. Markus can’t help but respond in kind, hugging him back. He tips his head and nuzzles the side of his boyfriend’s head.

“You’re an artist right down to the sappy poetry, Markus.”

\--- --- --- --- ---

Connor stays with them for the next three days. During the first, none of the apartment’s residents really see much of one another. North, still in the honeymoon phase of her new not-relationship with Chloe, spends most of her time visiting the girl she hasn’t yet called her girlfriend. Simon and Josh are overridden with classes and spend most of their time either at school or work. Markus, who is finally starting to feel like he can get into the swing of pursuing his degree again, is more focused than ever on his own studies. Connor has work the second day, and on the third, it’s Markus who is out.

As promised, he has agreed to sit down and discuss assets with Leo. It’s still a bit of a challenge, since neither of them really know exactly which things to split up between the two of them, but on their first day actually cooperating about it, they spend their time at their father’s house, making a list of all the things Carl included in his will and deciding to distribute them over time.

Today is a day for little things. Leo has requested many of Carl’s decorations, and Markus has laid claim to the books on the bookshelves. They’re lying on the living room floor, not far from the piano, with a notebook laid out before them. They’re actually having a good time, too. They’ve got root beer floats that the ice cream has all melted in, Leo’s weird easy listening shit playing in the background, and they’re just…relaxing.

Leo rolls over onto his back and his beanie falls off his head, revealing thick, messy hair. He smiles up at the ceiling that peers over him from above the balcony. He points up at said wooden balcony. “Remember when I fell off that thing?”

Markus glances over at him and outright laughs. “How could I forget? You were screaming so loudly, the entire neighborhood could probably hear you.”

“I mean, it’s pretty fucking high up!” Leo roars with laughter. “I was so mad at you and Dad for laughing, though. I was lucky enough to land on that giant-ass bean bag chair you talked him into buying, or else I’d have straight up died.”

“That’s what you get for trying to mess with Dad’s hanging stuff,” Markus scolds lightly. The hanging stuff in question had been a wooden pterodactyl model Carl had had suspended from the ceiling. Leo had planned on sticking a bunch of sticky notes to it, but had wound up toppling over the balcony instead. Joke was and continues to be on him to this day.

At the very least, Leo’s laughing about it.

“In your defense, Dad was kind of impressed by your gumption,” Markus reminds him. “Of all the things to plaster in sticky notes, you were going to choose the most risky one.”

“It’s because it would be the hardest to try and remove them from,” Leo answers. “It was genius, until I forgot how gravity worked.”

Their childhood hasn’t been all arguments and hatred. Looking back, Leo and Markus hadn’t been very pleasant to one another during the time that the incident had happened, but the fact that they can laugh at it now means something. It definitely beats the rage with which Leo had slugged Markus in the nose and the anger with which Markus had tackled him and started swinging the other day.

“That’s why I want it, myself,” Leo continues, and Markus nods in understanding. “I’ve got this spot in the corner of the living room where it’d go perfectly.”

“You’ve been living on your own for a while, haven’t you?” Markus realizes aloud, and Leo scoffs.

“Fuck no. Detroit is expensive! You don’t get to live by yourself unless you’re some rich-ass lonely CEO or you’re selling your dick to the black market. I’ve got a roommate. You probably don’t want to meet him, though.”

“I’ve met some interesting roommates,” Markus argues. “Hell, I’ve met some interesting _people_ , lately.”

“You referring to your boyfriend?”

“No, but he’s definitely pretty interesting.” Markus laughs. “Actually, he works with this guy, sort of. Connor’s a pharmacy tech at Walmart, and this guy’s an associate. I ran into him while shopping one day and tried to introduce himself because he’d delivered me food before and—”

Leo covers his face with both hands and groans loudly. “I already know what the hell you’re gonna say.”

Markus frowns, and then Leo rolls over. He wrinkles his nose, and then forms the single deepest scowl Markus has ever seen on his face before, which is saying something. Afterward, he clears his throat and deepens his voice.

“Do you use that hand when you piss?”

Markus’ eyes go wide. “Wait, _Gavin_ is your roommate?”

“Bingo,” Leo jabs. “And he’s a giant fucking toolshed. Actually, screw that. He’s the whole fucking Home Depot.”

And they’re laughing again, until Markus knocks over his root beer float and has to get up to clean up the mess. They don’t even have a quarter of their father’s assets sorted out, but they decide to take it easy for the night and get food. Markus takes them to the same burger bar he’d invited Connor to on their first date, and they spend most of their evening testing out fry flavors and dips while hovering over YouTube videos on each other's phones.

It doesn’t feel forced, and it doesn’t feel like either of them is uncomfortable. If anything, it reminds Markus of how you can repair a relationship on the Sims by talking with them again. Give them some space and then slap the _talk_ and _tell joke_ options until they become friends again. Markus and Leo have a long way to go, but he’s definitely racking up plenty of positive relationship points today.

 It may be a weekday, but Markus doesn’t have class in the morning, and apparently, North is the only one who does. As Markus is parking his car at the store after having dropped his brother back off at his apartment, he receives a bitter text message from her.

_[North]_

_8:44 PM_

_Simon wants booze. You guys are all gonna be noisy and horny and weird with each other, so I’m gonna stay with Chloe tonight. Love you, stupid._

Markus scoffs softly in response to the message, then tucks the phone away into his pocket and starts toward the grocery section.

It kind of sucks that North isn’t going to party with them, but when Markus arrives, he immediately learns that there’s plenty of party already there for them. He damn near drops the bags he has in his hands when he steps inside.

The coffee table has been pushed off to the side in the living room and the couch scooted back a little closer to the kitchen. In the new empty space, Josh is on his knees, legs slightly spread, back arched and hand pointed out in front of him. It almost looks like he’s reaching for something. Behind him, Connor stands. He’s bent over him a little, tugging his arm up into the air. There’s music on the TV on Spotify, but it’s paused while Connor speaks.

Or well, while he _was_ speaking. Because when Markus steps inside, they all turn to regard him. Markus figures he must _look_ as dumbfounded as he is, because when he glances over to Simon and Daniel on the couch, Simon just smiles and shakes his head and Daniel bursts out laughing.

“Hey, Markus,” Josh greets, out of breath. He gets to his feet, and Markus notices that he looks like he’s been running the mile. He sports a loose reddish tank top and baggy sweats, and the entire front of his shirt is soaked in sweat. Connor isn’t much different, in his own gray T-shirt and sweatpants. His shirt isn’t as soaked as Josh’s, but it comes pretty close. Either way, they both flash Markus a smile.

Markus briefly recalls that Connor had taken dance classes for most of his childhood, so he can infer what’s happening here. He knows that despite his major in American History, Josh also has a closet passion for dance, himself. That in mind, he closes the door behind him, strides to the kitchen, deposits the contents of his store visit onto the counter, and leans over it. A smile forms on his lips.

“You’re dancing together,” he observes aloud. Daniel pivots to face him on the couch and shrugs.

“It’s kinda my fault. I brought up the fact that your man can dance, and Simon and Josh talked him into showing off a little.”

Come to think of it, Markus hasn’t ever seen Connor dance. When they’d first met at that club, he probably could have, but they’d both fancied a walk outside. He hadn’t really thought to ask Connor to dance beyond that either, because not long into meeting the guy, Connor had expressed that he hated the sound of the metronome he had practiced with during all his lessons.

Music, however, isn’t just a beat. It’s so much more, and apparently Connor knows that. The wide, relaxed smile on his face shows that he’s having a good time right now. He looks more calm than Markus has seen him in a long time, and the sight makes Markus feel warm all over.

“They’ve been at it all day,” Simon adds as Markus moves to stand next to the couch. “Josh complimented Connor, and Connor just…decided he was going to show him a couple of the things he’d learned in the past. And that’s how Josh became the test dummy for Connor’s dance choreography practice..”

“And Josh is fuckin’ eating it up,” Daniel finishes.

Markus, now intrigued, glances up at Connor and Josh, who have gotten started practicing all over again. He can’t help but smile. “Well?” He starts, breaking the two men out of their practice. Connor and Josh glance up at him curiously. “Can I see what you’ve got so far?”

Josh and Connor both stand upright and glance back and forth between one another. Markus sees the nervousness on both their faces, but he also imagines that they’ve been practicing in front of Simon and Daniel long enough that they don’t have any reason to protest. So, once they come to a decision, they separate a few paces and Connor nods to Simon, who starts the song over.

It’s a slow, heavy R&B piece Markus recognizes instantly, but he loses track of the lyrics and the song title once the two men slip into motion. First and foremost, for a closet dancer, Josh can _move_. He flows into each step almost flawlessly, and considering some of the moves involve him dropping onto the ground and stretching his body in perfect pace with the beats of the song, Markus is heavily impressed.

Second, Connor is a _brilliant_ dancer. His movements fall into flawless motion with Josh’s, and for a moment, it doesn’t even look like he’s been teaching. The dance is theirs, and when they slip into duet together, Markus is utterly mesmerized. Josh drops to his knees, arches his back, extends his arm out, and Connor slips in behind him. Their mouths fall open as Connor’s fingers glide up along the long expanse of Josh’s arm. The gesture looks like a lengthy exhale, and when Connor pulls his hand back and Josh retracts his own and clutches his chest, they both arch backward, bending almost down to ground level.

And then they collapse, laughing.

Markus realizes he wouldn’t change this weird, ragtag family he has going for the world. He too finds himself laughing as he makes his way back into the kitchen to fix everyone drinks.

“You’re incredible,” he praises around said laughter, “both of you.”

“Thanks,” Josh replies as he gets to his feet, “but now that you’re breaking out the alcohol, I think I’m done for the day. I’m going to hop in the shower real quick.”

“That honestly sounds like a fantastic idea,” Connor agrees. While Josh heads for the hallway bathroom, Connor goes to Markus’ room, and the two disappear for their respective showers. It leaves just Markus and the twins.

Or, well, one twin. Daniel stands up not long after. “I’m gonna go get my shit real quick.”

Markus watches Daniel leave out the front door, and he turns a glance to Simon. “His shit?”

Simon laughs. “He says he hasn’t come over to smoke with any of us for a while.”

Markus shrugs. It really has been a while. He doesn’t personally know about North and the others, but Markus himself hasn’t given the thought much time of day. But today has been a good day. A little booze and a little weed sounds like the perfect way to top it all off.

One other thing, though…

“So, I have to ask,” Markus wonders aloud as he heads into the kitchen and grabs a beer. He tosses one Simon’s way. “You and Josh…is that really a thing?”

The smile that forms on Simon’s face there tells Markus everything he needs to know. Still, as he watches his friend use his shirt to open up his beer, he waits for an answer.

“It’s…something,” he responds lightly, his gaze almost dreamy as he stares down into the open beer bottle in his hand. “That night that he got wasted and started throwing up a couple weeks ago…I spent the whole night with him. He was a mess, Markus. Guy’s got a lot on his plate, what with his studies and all. He was throwing up and sobbing into the toilet about how much growing up sucked, and how he didn’t want his future to come as quickly as it was.”

Markus vaguely remembers North’s words from the other night. How she had been lamenting somewhat about how much things were going to change. About how they were all growing up and getting ready to move on with their lives. Had they been talking about this when Simon and Josh had decided to go on their walk?

“He’s right, you know?” Simon continues after taking a long drink from the bottle. “We grew up together. Went through high school together. Have been roommates ever since we graduated. That’s not permanent. Eventually, we’re all going to settle down and start living our lives. He’s afraid of that. _I’m_ afraid of that.”

“We all are,” Markus admits with a sigh. “But I don’t see us disappearing from one another’s lives. We won’t see each other every single day, but I cherish everything that’s happened over the years. I’m not going to just forget that.”

Simon’s smile softens. He takes another drink. “That’s what I told Josh, too. Connor helped me get him cleaned up and we put him to bed. We went out and talked to you for a while, and then I went to check on him. Poor guy was back on his knees in the bathroom. I gave him some water, dabbed at his face with a wet washcloth, and he passed out on me right there in the bathroom.”

Simon is still staring down into the neck of the beer bottle, and it’s in seeing him this way that Markus gets it. He can’t count the number of times he’s gotten lost in thought about Connor. About the little tiny moments like these that still make him feel weak with affection. Simon’s currently facing the same situation.

“He relied on me,” Simon adds. “I mean, we all rely on one another, but this was different. It was almost like I wanted him to keep doing so. Even piss drunk, throwing up all over himself, he was still so damned warm and comfortable leaned up against me. I didn’t want to leave him. And the next morning, when he was getting up and realizing he wasn’t going to leave the house because of how hungover he was, I took care of him. Helped him get bathed and brought him water and pain meds. I don’t know what exactly led up to it, but I kissed him in the bathroom, and he freaked out. Told me we could talk about it later.”

Markus swallows down nervousness. Had he not been seeing the way Simon was smiling right now, he might have suspected this story didn’t have a happy ending. Still, he waits for Simon to keep talking.

Which he does.

“We didn’t really talk about it. In the end, it was a lot of kisses stolen in really random moments. We made out a lot. Snuck into the bathroom or out onto the balcony…things got kind of heated on the couch in the living room a couple of times. One night, we just decided it was time to talk about it. We went on a walk. Ended up discussing a whole bunch of other things. To this day, I’m not sure if there’s any real closure on the matter, but I do know that we’re getting closer. I’m okay with all that has happened, and if Josh gives me the green light one day, I’ll be there. But he’s afraid of the future. He doesn’t want to throw a relationship into the mix and make things harder if it turns out we do go our separate ways.”

“That makes sense,” Markus agrees. He realizes he hasn’t opened his drink yet, so he does that as he keeps speaking. “He’s just trying to save the both of you some grief.”

“He is.” Simon nods. “In the moment, though, I kind of wish he wouldn’t.”

Markus frowns. Normally, Simon is the more level-headed of them. Josh is cautious to a fault, and North is impulsive. Markus himself is passionate and sometimes gets himself into trouble for it. Simon’s usually the one to think about all the choices involved and weigh out his options. How long ago he started to have these feelings toward Josh is beyond Markus, but he must feel them pretty damned strongly to be so openly conflicted about it.

But before Markus has the chance to say anything about it, Simon speaks up again.

“They looked good dancing together like that, huh?” When Markus looks up at Simon following those words, he notices his friend is smiling almost playfully. He can’t help but smile a little himself.

“They did,” Markus agrees. “They looked incredible.”

“You and Connor…” Simon continues, taking a drink. “How are you guys?”

Markus looks ahead and takes a drink of his own beer. “Us? As a unit?”

Simon rolls his eyes. “Please, Markus. You two have been sharing a bed since like a week after you drew him.”

Markus scoffs. He has almost forgotten that his and Connor’s sleeping habits aren’t typical for normal friends. He knows he and Connor are more than just friends, but it still feels so odd that Simon would bring it up to him like this.

“I mean, yeah…” Markus laughs and glances down at the ground. “Connor and I…we’re, _us_ , you know?”

“Trust me,” Simon shrugs, “I know. I’m happy for the two of you, though.”

Markus just smiles. He’s happy for them, too.

\--- --- --- --- ---

On nights like this, things usually escalate. Markus has bought plenty of alcohol for the occasion, but once Simon of all people gets a party in mind, it goes all the way. So it’s no surprise that it doesn’t take long for all five of them to be feeling pretty good. Beer bottles decorate the coffee table, which has been relocated to its original spot in the living room, and everyone’s sprawled out around the couch. There’s some indie horror movie playing on the television, but between taking turns hitting the bowl they’re currently smoking and discussing all the shows they grew up on as kids that were actually really adult-oriented, they’re not paying it much mind.

Connor is in the middle of taking a hit when Daniel speaks up. “You guys remember _Dexter’s Laboratory?_ When the parents were playing Twister?”

Connor coughs and passes the bowl to Markus. He looks up at Daniel and shakes his head. “No?”

Daniel snickers and pulls up a YouTube video. Having not remembered the scene himself, Markus leans over the phone and watches as well. He outright chokes.

“We grew up on that stuff?” Markus manages in between coughs. His head feels light and airy, and with the warmth that the alcohol has caused him, it’s even better. Connor is all snuggled up against him, too. The bonuses just keep adding up.

“We grew up on that stuff,” Daniel repeats. “Most of the shit we watched as kids had some seriously questionable content in it.”

“So I’ve learned,” Josh muses from nearby. He’s significantly less drunk than last time, though he’s plenty high to make up for it. His eyes are ringed bright red. “I grew up on _Spongebob_ , man…Can’t believe I didn’t see half the things you guys mentioned until right now.”

“That’s because you always had your nose in a book,” Simon reminds, nudging Josh playfully with his elbow. Markus passes the bowl to him as he keeps speaking. “Not necessarily a bad thing. You were pure and innocent.”

“I absolutely was not.” Josh scowls, and Markus bursts out laughing.

“Josh, do you remember when we went to that planetarium and toured the Museum?” Markus questions as he takes a drink of his beer. “You got that magnetic dog that you could pose on virtually anything, and you took it everywhere with you. There was that one day when you were throwing it up into the air when we were walking past the dollar store. You threw it too high and it got stuck on the roof, and that’s the first time I _ever_ heard you curse.”

“For your information, _Markus_ ,” Josh reminds as Simon gives him the bowl, “I’ve cursed before that. Secondly, you were the first guy I talked masturbation with, so I don’t want you to hear me talking like I’m a pure, untarnished angel.”

“Wait, what?” Connor, Simon, and Daniel all chime, clearly interested. As Josh takes the last hit and gives the bowl back to Daniel, Simon clears his throat and directs wide eyes to Markus.

“You guys talked about masturbating?”

“I can’t believe you brought it up,” Markus groans, though he’s more entertained than frustrated. He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s his fault, anyway. We were in the bathroom at school, and he just piped up and said ‘North said you grow hair on your hands if you jerk off a lot’.”

“ _You_ looked at your hand!” Josh retorts instantly, and everyone laughs.

Daniel packs away the rest of his supply, and then sits back, folding his hands behind his head. “Real talk, though, everyone jerks it. No need to be embarrassed.”

“Trust me,” Markus laughs, and then finishes off his last beer for the night, “I’m not.”

“You were that day,” Josh teases, and next to Markus, Connor snickers.

“How old were you guys?” Connor asks.

“Fifteen,” Markus replies. “And I didn’t do it _that_ much. I just…you get the compulsion to look when people say things like that. It’s like that whole ‘if your hand is bigger than your face, you have cancer’ thing.”

“Which Josh fell for, mind you,” Simon points out.

“And the trick with making the penny teleport inside the water bottle,” Daniel adds.

“Okay, you got me with that one,” Josh laughs there. “I _really_ wanted to see if it worked.”

“You didn’t even get mad,” Simon replies amidst his own laughter. “You just _knew_ you’d been had.”

Josh just shrugs. “I’m a humble man, what can I say?”

Parties aren’t always crazy, noisy events with people going off left and right. Sometimes, parties are just enough beer and weed and food to be comfortably warm, super light, and strangely aware of the existence of your eyeballs. And that’s where they are now. The indie horror movie on Netflix is now the subject of everyone’s interest. Daniel gets up to turn the light off, crooning out a tired-sounding, “welp, my forehead just about feels like it’s gonna float up through the goddamn ceiling, so it’s quiet time now,” before he makes himself comfortable on the armchair. He leaves the couch for Simon, Josh, Markus, and Connor, but Markus and Connor decide to camp out on the floor. They move the coffee table out of the way, grab some pillows from Markus’ room, and plop down on their backs in front of the television screen.

Some indie horror movies are fantastic in a storyline sort of way, while others are fantastic in a hilarious way. This one is the latter, and Connor and Markus are giggling like the little drunk stoners they currently are while the movie plays on. Neither of them realize they’re the only two laughing by the end of the movie until the credits start rolling.

Markus is the first to notice the silence. He rolls over to one side and props himself up on his elbow, looking around. Daniel is passed out sideways on the armchair, while Simon and Josh are sprawled out over one another on the couch, fast asleep.

Markus feels Connor shifting next to him. The look on his boyfriend’s face and the way he sways slightly tells Markus that he’s still more than a little intoxicated. He giggles—actually _giggles_ —at the sight of all their sleeping friends. “Well, this went from party to sleepover quickly.”

“It did…” Markus muses aloud, sitting upright fully. He glances over at Connor and realizes he’s staring. He’s got that same facetious look in his eyes as the Connor Markus had dreamed about a few days ago. The same hungry gaze that Markus isn’t sure how to handle. He knows what’s coming, though.

With the alcohol and THC in Connor’s system, he’s significantly less reserved. He shows this in the way he practically crawls into Markus’ lap and licks his lips. He tips his head, and those curls bounce their way over his forehead just so. Markus can see the gleam in his boyfriend’s eyes even in the darkness of the living room.

“That means we’ve got time to ourselves…” Connor teases as he tilts his head and noses at Markus’ neck.

Oh _god_ , that’s arousing…Markus isn’t sure how to handle it. He knows he’s not about to get it on with Connor in the living room, though.

“Connor…” Markus manages, though he’s not doing well to keep the excited waver out of his voice. “Connor, we can’t. Not in here.”

“Oh, please,” Connor chuckles against Markus’ neck, and Markus can’t hide the way his body shivers in response to the warmth and the vibrations against his skin. “They’re passed out drunk. They’re not going to wake up.”

“That’s…let’s go to the bedroom,” Markus is finally able to say, though just barely, because Connor’s tongue is flattened out on the skin of his neck and he’s tracing it along, up to his jaw.

“That’s not a ‘no’,” Connor coos against Markus’ skin. “I’ll take it. I can’t wait to feel you.”

_Feel you._

Jesus fucking Christ, Connor. He's so unpredictable, and just when Markus thinks he's figured him out, he surprises him all over again.  However, it’s not like Markus is complaining. If he hadn’t adored this trait about Connor, he wouldn’t have gotten with him in the first place.

That in mind, when Connor stands and extends his hand out, Markus takes it. He admires the way that, even though Connor is very obviously inebriated, his steps are somehow still graceful. As he leads the way, he only buckles once, and when he does, he catches his balance effortlessly. He guides them into Markus’ room and quietly closes the door behind him. Markus turns to face him just in time for him to be on him again.

Drunk Connor kisses differently. He’s slightly more messy, and he grips at Markus like he’s holding onto him for balance. Come to think of it, maybe he is. The more Markus looks at Connor, the more he sees just how far gone the other man is. Not only is he still a little high, but he’s very, very drunk, and Markus can see him edging toward wasted as the time passes. He realizes he has no idea just how much Connor has had to drink today.

At some point, they manage to make it to the bed. Connor’s got Markus on his back, and his not-so-deft fingers are fumbling at the material of his shirt, trying to push it up. His mouth is on the crook of Markus’ neck, and he’s sucking gently.

Markus hates how good it feels. How even though Connor’s movements are bogged down by his inebriation, his mouth is still so warm on Markus’ neck and his hands are still grazing his skin just right as he works to pull that shirt up. Markus is getting into the moment whether he wants to or not.

“God…Connor…” He grunts as he slides his arms around Connor’s waist and pulls him down against him. Their mouths meet, lips part, and fall shut together in perfect unison. Even drunk, they kiss like they were made to. Connor’s hand finds the side of Markus’ face, and he tips his head into the kiss. He has stopped in the middle of pushing Markus’ shirt up, and his nails are now just barely raking down the older man’s front. Markus hisses against his boyfriend’s lips and then slides a hand down to push at Connor’s pants.

“You’re incredible, Markus, you know that?” Connor slurs into the kiss. Markus moans, even though Connor’s hands have stopped moving. It’s just that everything he does is just about fucking perfect. “I’m so tired, and I still want to put my hands all over you. It’s disappointing that I don’t think I can keep going.”

“You idiot,” Markus practically coos as he breaks off the kiss. He guides Connor onto his side and turns to face him. “Go to sleep. You know I’m going to be here when you wake up. I don’t have class in the morning.”

Connor giggles. It’s a very obvious drunken giggle that Markus falls a little in love with the sound of. “And I don’t have work.”

“That’s what I was getting at,” Markus teases, as he trails his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair. He leans in to press a kiss to his forehead. “Goodnight, Connor.”

Connor pouts and scoots in closer. “No, make out with me a little more.”

“Trust me, Connor, you’ve got no idea how much I want to make out with you more. But you’re passing out on me.”

“I am not…” Connor tries to roll his eyes, but instead, he makes this comical gesture of struggling to keep them open when they try to stay in the back of his head. “Okay…I am. Fine. But this isn’t over.”

Markus just curls his arm around Connor and snuggles up to him, waiting for him to actually fall asleep. He spends a good half an hour willing himself out of the arousal Connor had sparked up during their little session, and the once he’s gravy, he finds sleep comes rather easily for him too.

\--- --- --- --- ---

_“Papa!”_

_Six years old is such a young age to suffer trauma. Markus travels through it confused, as if he wears a blindfold. He doesn't understand what a hospice room is, or why he has to stay with a different family, or why his father has changed so much in appearance. A once vibrant man’s normally dark, freckled skin looks ashen and somehow clammy at the same time. A once-youthful face has aged considerably in the course of a couple of years._

_Papa smiles warmly as his son enters the room. Even sitting upright in a hospital bed with all kinds of wires and tubes hooked up to him, he's smiling. Markus smiles back and rushes over._

_“How do you feel today?” Markus asks. Even though he doesn't fully understand what's going on, he has been told that Papa is very sick._

_“A lot better!” Papa responds, his bright green eyes alight even when the rest of him can't be. He makes a gesture of flexing his arms to show his strength, and Markus giggles. His father is skinny and frail, but he looks like a superhero right now. “Great, now that you're here. Get up here, son. I want to tell you a story.”_

_Markus tips his head, but climbs into his father's lap without protest. Even with all the things he's connected to, Markus manages to settle himself in comfortably. He's all snuggled back against Papa's chest, playing with the cord attached to the cuff on the man's upper arm._

_“Do you remember Mama?” Papa asks softly. Markus thinks he sounds a bit sad. He nods, however._

_“Yeah. I miss her,” he answers calmly._

_“I miss her, too,” Papa replies. Markus feels his grip tighten around him. “Markus…what if I told you I'm going to go visit Mama?”_

_Markus turns and looks up at his father. “Can I come?”_

_He sees the way Papa frowns. “No, son…not this time.”_

_“What? But that's not fair!” Markus protests. “I miss Mama! I wanna go see her!” His eyes well up with big tears, but Papa still shakes his head._

_“I know you do, Markus.” Papa raises a hand and places it atop his son's head. “One day, you can go see her. But not for a while, okay?”_

_Markus isn't satisfied. His cheeks and nose grow red and warm with frustration and his eyes still threaten tears. Papa leans forward and presses a kiss to the top of Markus' head._

_“How about that story? It’ll make you feel better.”_

_\--- --- --- --- ---_

When Markus wakes up, he's on his back. His eyes are wide and focused straight upward. His breathing feels restricted and his throat. He’s got both hands on his chest, clutching at his sheets. This feeling…it’s like some sort of strange anxiety. A compulsion to believe that whatever he’d just dreamed isn’t over yet.

He gasps sharply when it happens. Out of the blue, a form appears above Markus. Dangling, his back pressed to the ceiling, hovers his childhood self. That same younger version of him who he’d spotted all waterlogged and miserable-looking. This one gapes down at him, frightened, before he suddenly twitches and vomits an impossible amount of water down from the ceiling.

Markus jolts awake once more with a sharp gasp this time. He sits bolt upright. The first thing he notices is that it’s easier to breathe. He brings a hand up to his chest as he attempts to calm himself, though.

The second thing he notices is that Connor isn’t in bed with him. A quick glance at the still-dark bathroom tells him that his boyfriend hasn’t awakened with a sudden urge to be sick. The bedroom door is open, though. Markus frowns and pushes himself up off the bed, making his way down the hall.

He’s nervous. The dream is still fresh in his mind, and tonight was a reminder that he hasn’t escaped his hallucinations just yet. The hallway feels longer than before, and the living room darker than usual. His friends are all still passed out in the living room, and the TV still glows brightly, and it _still_ makes Markus uncomfortable.

His respite comes in the form of Connor's outline standing on the balcony. He's on his phone, Markus notices. He casts a glance at the microwave in the kitchen. It's just past four in the morning. Markus frowns and steps outside to check on him.

Either Connor just doesn't notice the sound of the door sliding open or he's too focused on his phone call to care. He isn't speaking, and a glance at the expression on his face tells Markus that it's not a good idea to interrupt whatever conversation is taking place.

Connor is wearing another of Markus’ hoodies, the hood pulled over his head and the sleeves hanging low on his hands. He's leaning up against the rail. His lips are just barely parted, and his eyebrows furrowed upward. He genuinely looks sad. Markus thinks he wants to hug Connor close, but he decides against it. Connor looks like he needs his privacy, so Markus doesn't bother him.

Instead, he backpedals into kitchen again and starts to his room to wait for Connor to return.

He decides he doesn't really want to talk about what just happened to him, either, so it's for the better.

\--- --- --- --- ---

Despite his interrupted sleep, Markus feels rested later that morning. He's up before ten, and so is Connor. Somehow, the younger man isn't hungover, and Markus has managed to get away with just a slight headache. He fixes it with a prescription-grade dose of ibuprofen and a bottle of water.

He's decided to paint today, but it's not going to be the picture of Connor that he has already sketched. Not yet, at least. First, he needs to see if he can get anything onto a canvas. So, while Connor showers, Markus breaks out his paintbrushes and gets to work mixing colors.

Connor's advice from the day Markus took him driving sits fresh in his mind. He just needs to do _something_. It doesn't have to be anything in particular. He just needs to get something out. He has to start somewhere.

He doesn’t have a clear picture in mind about what he wants to paint, so he just…wings it. Dips his brush into a blue swatch and starts working.

Markus finds it comes easier if he doesn't think about what he's doing. He tries for all of a couple of minutes to apply the things he learned in school, before he finds himself being overly critical of his work.

So he closes his eyes and calms himself. He's _not_ going to have an episode like he did at the school. He's _not_ going to panic like he had right in front of Connor. He's not creating anything right now. He's just trying to get paint onto a canvas. He's just trying to pick up the pieces.

The picture doesn't make any sense. To Markus, it looks like something a preschooler would have thrown onto posterboard during fingerpainting. He hates it the more he adds to it, and eventually, frustratedly, he drops his palette onto the desk.

He got somewhere. He has to keep telling himself that. It doesn't look like much, but it's the first time he's even attempted to paint in a month. That's progress. It may not feel like it, but it’s better than nothing.

Markus spots the sketchbook from grade school sitting on the corner of his table, and he feels compelled to open it up again. He smiles at that familiar picture of North and Josh fighting, and then turns the page.

The thing about this sketchbook is that it has lasted all these years. Markus turns the pages and sees his art style grow. There are goofy drawings between himself and his friends, and stupid little notes they wrote back and forth to one another during classes, but there are also drawings Markus made over the years during lectures. Some are little doodles of eyes and noses and mouths, and others full-on sketches of roads and clouds. He can see how much he grew as an artist over the years, and how much of what he learned from his father and his teachers he applied into his work.

He looks up at the canvas once more, and he’s surprised. The random blues and browns and grays splattered onto the surface don’t quite look as bad as he’d initially thought. He wonders if maybe he could transform certain elements of it into a scene…he can almost see muddy patches of earth and a cottage beside a lake…

“You’re painting again.”

Usually, Connor is the one to surprise Markus by speaking up, but this time, the voice is North’s. He doesn’t remember her coming home last night, so it must have been early this morning. Either way, she’s standing in the doorway, smiling widely at the sight. Markus turns to face her and smiles right back.

“I needed to. It’s not that great yet, but I can almost see something I want to make it into.”

He turns back to the canvas and looks at the half-destroyed paint pyramid Connor had made. Carefully, he rifles through some of the colors on the levels he doesn’t have to dig to retrieve. North has fallen silent. Markus almost thinks she’s left, but then he hears her sniffle. He instantly returns his focus to her and walks away from the desk.

Markus has seen North cry a handful of times. She’s more quick to get angry and lash out than she is to burst into tears, so needless to say, he’s alarmed. She’s got her hands in fists at her sides, and she’s glaring down at the ground in front of her feet. She makes an ugly display of sniffing loudly, and when Markus reaches out to place his hands on her shoulders, she glares up at him through big, watery eyes.

“You’re so fucking stupid, Markus!” She yells suddenly, tears spilling down her cheeks in big, wet globs. “You’re so fucking talented and you’re painting again and you and Connor are together and I skipped school today, and-and I _really_ like Chloe, and…”

Wait… _what_ exactly is she crying about right now?

“North…hey, calm down, would you?” Markus gives her shoulders a gentle squeeze, and North turns her head up and wails out a sob, before she thunks her head forward against his chest.

“Simon and Josh looked so happy together on the couch, and you and Leo are working things out, and I’m just so fucking happy for all of us, okay?” She sniffles against Markus’ chest, and Markus finds himself chuckling a little at the sight of it. He raises a hand up and places it atop her head, holding her close.

Connor steps out of the bathroom and Markus’ gaze meets his over North. Connor looks visibly confused, and Markus just shrugs. He’ll explain later. So, as Connor mirrors the shrug and slips back into the bathroom to get dressed, Markus pulls back and wipes away North’s tears with his thumbs.

“Me too, you know? It’s been a while since everything has been this good.” He smiles at her.

“You’re stupid,” North retorts. Her nose is red and her eyes puffy, but she looks relieved. “Getting feelings and shit.”

“You’re the one who broke down crying.”

“You’re the one who couldn’t paint for a month.”

“Low blow, North,” Markus teases. “But hey…you and Chloe. That a thing, now?”

North’s cheeks flush even brighter red. “Yeah. We’re gonna go see a movie tonight. It’s gonna be great to be able to relax around her, y’know?”

“Please,” Markus rolls his eyes, “you were already relaxed around her.”

North mirrors the gesture. “You know exactly what I mean, Manfred.”

This time, Connor emerges fully dressed. He gently closes the door behind him, and North hears it squeak shut. She pivots to face him and raises both eyebrows.

“Good morning, boyfriend.”

“It got around that fast, did it?” Connor smiles and tucks his hands into his pockets. Markus notices he’s wearing his own sweater this time, but it fits tightly around his slender frame and matches well with the dark wash jeans he’s sporting.

“I mean, word travels in this house,” North jokes back. “I know we all kind of made it obvious we saw it coming, but no matter how much shit we gave you, we really are happy for you. You make my boy Markus over here smile nerdier every day.”

Markus rolls his eyes yet again, and Connor glances down, his own smile gaining a little weight. “Take that as a compliment, Markus,” he points out.

“Done,” Markus manages back with a laugh, before North turns her attention back to him.

“Welp, you’re working on your painting shit, so I’ll leave you to it. Show me what you’ve got when you’re done, yeah?”

“Obviously,” Markus responds, and North smiles appreciatively before heading out of the room. She’s careful to shut the door behind her, making it clear that Connor and Markus now have their own space. Their own moment.

“You really did start painting again,” Connor notices aloud, nodding toward the picture sitting up on the canvas. It isn’t much right now, but just like North did, Connor seems to see more in it than what Markus does. “I’m so proud of you.”

Markus just smiles fondly down at the ground. “That’s…thanks, Connor.”

“No, I mean it!” When Markus glances up at Connor in response to the urgency in his tone, he sees that Connor almost looks panicked. “No offense, Markus, but you’ve been saying you’re going to try and paint for a while now, and after a bit, I started to worry whether you were actually going to or not. But…here it is, and it looks _good_. You’re just so incredible sometimes.”

Is it really that big of an achievement? To Markus, it doesn’t feel like much of anything. A few hasty brush strokes on a canvas in an attempt to get _something_ done, but that’s really all it is. But it _is_ progress. That much, he won’t deny.

“I’m…Connor, I’m just a guy.” Markus sighs and faces his boyfriend fully, moving to take a couple of steps toward him. “People cope with depression in their own ways, and I just had to cope before I could get started, you know?”

Connor frowns and shakes his head, but Markus doesn’t give him a chance to say anything. Instead, he moves to stand right in front of him. “You know what’s incredible? You and Josh last night. You really made that dance up off the top of your head?”

“I mean, sort of…” Connor replies. Markus notices he’s avoiding eye contact. Is it perhaps because Connor can’t handle praise as well as he can give it? “A lot of the steps I used were ones I’d learned back when I was in Dance, but I guess I did coordinate them on my own.”

Markus scoffs softly and cocks his head to the side. “Choreography isn’t easy, you know.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Though, I have to be honest.” Markus raises a finger to his lower lip in thought. “I pegged your mother as the type to teach you more classical dance than anything.”

“She did.” Connor moves back a step and takes a seat at the foot of Markus’ bed. “I was in classes for everything. Whatever she thought would give me the upper hand in a modeling career, she wanted me to have. Ballet, hip hop…whatever was offered here that she could fit in on my schedule, I enrolled in it.”

Markus thinks for a moment that Connor’s mastery of so much all at once sounds pretty damned amazing, but he also remembers how Connor had told him how much he hated the sound of a metronome. And yet, seeing the way he and Josh had collapsed in laughter last night, it almost feels different. It probably wasn’t so much the fact that he was dancing, as that he was having a good time doing it, but…

“Do you still hate Dance?” Markus finds himself asking, still struggling to put his confusion into words. He faces Connor, standing a couple of feet away from the bed.

“Not Dance, no,” Connor replies, shaking his head. “I don’t think I ever hated Dance. What I hated was the intense regimen I had, and how I only really had time to apply it during classes and recitals. I was a pretty busy kid, you know?”

“I believe it,” Markus answers. “But you had fun last night, it looks like.”

“I did.” Connor nods, smiling up at Markus. “More fun than I’ve ever had dancing. And it was so exciting putting those steps into my very own dance, you know? I got a little carried away, but Josh was a real trooper, sticking with me the whole time on it.”

“Josh was having fun, too,” Markus points out. “He’s always been interested in learning to dance. You made his night showing him what you know, if you ask me.”

Connor tips his head to the side. “You think so? I hope…”

Markus takes a seat on the edge of the bed next to his boyfriend. “So you learned different styles of dance?” When Connor nods, he smiles almost sheepishly. “Ballroom dancing?”

Connor laughs. “Ballroom dancing, too. Do you like that kind of thing?”

“I mean…” Markus cups the back of his neck, smiling down at his lap. “I’ve always thought it was pretty graceful. I like watching it, but I’ve never really tried to learn it for myself.”

Connor lights up there. “I can teach you.”

“No,” Markus laughs nervously, “that’s okay, Connor. Thanks, though.”

“Nope,” Connor retorts quickly, standing up. “Nuh-uh, you’re going to dance with me, Markus Manfred.”

Markus’ cheeks color a little there, and he glances away. “Connor, I don’t know the first thing about dancing.”

“I said I’d teach you,” Connor protests. “Stand up.”

“There’s not enough space in here,” Markus tries, and just like every other time he’s ever tried to back out of something Connor deems exciting, he’s thrown for a loop.

“For an artist, you sure don’t see out of the box very often,” Connor muses as he tugs Markus to his feet. He spins them around, then hops up and backwards onto the mattress. He takes a few steps back, tugging Markus up onto the bed with him. “We’ll try the box step. It’s good for beginners.”

“Connor, we’re going to break our necks…” Markus’ logic isn’t skewed. They’re on a mattress, and while it’s firm enough to support some awkward, bouncy sort of walking, there’s no way they’re going to be able to dance on it.

“You think I’d let you get hurt?” Connor professes simply, and it’s the look in those eyes that does Markus in. Determined, soft, full of anticipation and warmth all at the same time. Of _course_ Markus trusts him.

There is definitely not enough space across the expanse of Markus’ queen-size bed for a dance made to span across entire rooms, but Connor either has that in mind or doesn’t care. He takes the position of the leader, pulling Markus’ right palm into his left hand and raising his right and wrapping it around until he finds Markus’ shoulder blade.

“Hand on my shoulder, Markus,” Connor instructs, and Markus obeys. “Now just follow my lead. Step with me.”

Dancing on a firm mattress is definitely a plus, but the steps are still awkward and Markus kind of feels like he’s walking atop a surface of gelatin. Connor keeps his grip on him firm, though, and his steps slow. He counts once they fall into rhythm, stops every now and then to correct Markus’ foot placement, and then falls into motion again.

And then he dares to throw ballroom music on. He finds a song on his phone quickly and places it on the bedside table, and then he pulls Markus in again.

Their movements are less than graceful. The bed gives and shifts every time Markus moves into the fall step of the dance, and while Connor manages almost flawlessly to stay upright, Markus feels like his legs are springy and awkward.

But god, he’s having so much fun. With Connor holding onto him, laughing every time he staggers, the beat of the waltz they’re listening to playing in the background, Markus almost forgets the world around him. He’s nowhere near as graceful as Connor, but he learns quickly how to keep up with him.

They’re so caught up in their little moment that neither of them notice when they get too carried away. Connor’s foot gets a little too far on the edge of the bed, and he stumbles backward, yelping in surprise and taking them both off the edge of the bed and onto the ground next to it with a resounding ‘thud’.

“Tch…ow…” Connor groans, propping himself up on his elbow, his free hand massaging at the back of his head. Markus, who has landed beside him, sits upright quickly to check on his boyfriend.

“You alright?” Markus asks, and Connor just smiles at him.

“It was totally worth it for the faces you kept making while you were concentrating,” Connor teases, and he doesn’t give Markus a chance to speak after that. Instead, he cups the side of his face and pulls him in for a kiss.

Still out of breath from dancing on the bed, Markus barely has enough focus to keep up with the fluid motion of Connor’s mouth on his, but he somehow manages, because amidst all of the intensity of the past fifteen minutes or so, Markus has been reminded yet again just how lucky he is to be with someone like Connor Stern. Unpredictable Connor, who makes him go to hamburger jail with him. Beautiful Connor who sits like a statue but flows like a river. Sweet, affectionate Connor who curls up in bed with him and tends to his wounds. Indomitable Connor, who builds paint bottle pyramids in order to challenge Markus to tear them down. Who pulls Markus onto his bed for a limited-space ballroom dance practice session.

It’s too early to think about what exactly his feelings are, but Markus can’t help but think that he loves Connor so damned much it’s dizzying.

They're on the floor, both out of breath, the blankets from Markus’ bed hanging half off the mattress. The light from the window not far from them peers in on them, painting a bright sunlit stripe across their connected forms. Markus is propped up on one arm, while his free hand finds the crook of Connor's neck and trails down to his shoulder. Connor cups both sides of Markus’ face in his hands and tips his head into the kiss.

It's so easy to get lost in how this feels. Markus is always quick to melt right into kissing Connor. He hasn't exactly gone about making out with people on a regular basis before Connor, but he knows this is something. He knows he doesn't want to feel it from anyone else.

He breaks off the kiss, raising his hand to Connor's jaw and trailing his fingertips down the side of his boyfriend's face. He sees the way Connor looks up at him—how he wets his lips and then draws his gaze back downward. Markus wonders if maybe he's got something on his mind. He briefly recalls seeing Connor on his phone early this morning.

Connor pulls him out of his thoughts, though, by way of turning his head to press a kiss to the fingertips touching his face. “Don't stop.”

So he doesn't. He dips in to kiss Connor again, and as Connor sucks his lip into his mouth, he urges Markus off of him. He closes his fingers around Markus' shoulders, spinning them around, and pulls Markus back up onto the bed with him. He makes haste in shedding his shirt, and as he scoots them further onto the bed, Markus shrugs off his own.

Markus brings a hand up to run his fingers through Connor's hair on the side of his head. He presses a kiss to his boyfriend's temple as their bodies start moving, hips finding rhythm against one another. Markus' kisses shift to Connor's cheek, his jaw, and then he settles at Connor's lips. He allows himself the luxury of getting caught up in the moment, and Connor joins in. Soon, they're a mess of sloppy, open-mouthed kisses, with Connor panting softly into them.

Markus shifts down somewhat, his lips closing on Connor's collarbone. His fingers leave the younger man's hair and trace the expanse of his shoulder, along his arm, down to his wrist, until he can reach Connor's hand and lace their fingers.

“I love your hands,” Markus praises as his kisses shift further down along Connor's chest.

“You're a hopeless romantic,” Connor teases affectionately in response. “But I love yours more.”

Markus glances up at him, then chuckles against the skin just above a nipple. “Bedside table, Connor. In the drawer.”

Connor knows immediately what he's talking about, and thankfully, they're close enough to said bedside table that Connor doesn't have to move far. He releases Markus’ hand and reaches into the drawer. Once he's got the items in hand, he flops back. Impatiently, he shoves a condom down and places it next to his waist on the bed. The bottle of lube, however, he stuffs right into Markus' hand.

Markus smiles against his skin and then sucks that nipple into his mouth. He hears a sharp inhale from Connor—feels it vibrate from the other man's chest against his lips, as he sucks gently on the nub in his mouth. His tongue swirls Connor’s nipple curiously, and he's rewarded by a soft, breathy moan from the other man.

He sets the bottle aside for a moment, reaching down to work open Connor's jeans. Connor lifts his hips to shimmy out of them, and Markus' kisses slip lower. His lips and tongue place a thin, glistening trail of saliva down along the expanse of Connor's torso.

Connor is already half-hard, Markus notices as he pulls his boyfriend's briefs down past his hips. He takes hold of the bottle of lube once more and pops open the cap, pouring some down onto his fingers. Hearing this, Connor opens his legs, and Markus licks his lips. He slides one slicked-up finger to his partner's entrance, teasing at his hole for a second, before he gently coaxes his fingertip in.

Connor whimpers a little, but when Markus glances up at him, he doesn't see discomfort. He sees impatience. Connor wants more. He smiles softly to himself, and then uses his free hand to take hold of Connor’s cock. He pumps him a few times for good measure, and then runs his tongue along the underside, from base to tip. Connor writhes in Markus’ grip, and then props himself up on his arms and grins down at him.

“C’mon, Markus,” he pleads greedily, and Markus scoffs a little, before he sucks the tip of Connor’s arousal into his mouth. He bobs down as he pushes a second finger into his boyfriend’s body, and then twists his wrist and curls his fingers upward as he takes more of him into his mouth. In a matter of seconds, he’s got a smooth rhythm of _up, down, up, down,_ on Connor’s erection while his fingers scissor and work to prepare him for what’s to come.

But even then, Connor is insatiable. He falls back onto the mattress, bringing his hands down to Markus’ head, and rocks his hips into his mouth. “Markus…more.”

Markus spends a few more seconds preparing Connor, before he withdraws his fingers and sits back. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, and then gets to work tugging his own pants and boxers down. He releases a pleasant sigh when he frees himself from his clothes, and then after kicking them aside, he reaches for the nearby condom.

“Open it with your teeth,” Connor teases. Markus can hear the arousal in his voice. It makes Connor’s words sound heavier. “I heard that’s sexy.”

“Who told you that?” Markus questions, rolling his eyes.

“Isn’t that the general consensus?” Connor replies. He props himself up again and reaches out to run his fingers along Markus’ chest. “Though it’s not like you’re not sexy enough as it is…God, just _come here_ …” He takes Markus’ face into his hands and yanks him down for another kiss, and Markus melts easily into it once more. He rips open the wrapper with his hands and rolls it out onto himself as their tongues meet and their kisses grow more heated. Markus somehow manages to find the bottle of lube again and coats himself, before he pulls Connor’s legs up around his waist and guides himself to his entrance.

Their lips separate as Markus carefully urges himself inside. Heat surrounds the head of his cock and he moans at just how tight Connor is while he gently pushes himself in the rest of the way. His forehead falls to Connor’s shoulder, and as Connor adjusts, he raises a hand to the back of Markus’ neck and traces soothing circles there. It’s strange, how the gesture feels comforting to Markus, but Connor is really the one who should be on the receiving end of soothing words and touches.

And yet, it feels so right. Connor has always been such a source of comfort and reassurance to Markus that this just feels like another one of the very precious moments the two of them have always shared. Like the first time Markus drew in front of Connor, or their walk on that first night, or Connor showing Markus the dance studio. Connor asking Markus to play piano for him. Their little impromptu mattress box step dance.

Having sex with Connor right now is just another one of those very, very precious moments. It’s another thing about him that Markus cherishes so intensely that he almost _needs_ those comforting hands, he’s so wraught with emotion.

When he feels his hips against Connor’s skin, he pulls back and peers down into Connor’s warm brown eyes. They’re particularly warm today, and as they fall shut, Markus can’t help but lean in and press a kiss to one of his eyelids. He rests his forehead against Connor’s and closes his own eyes, just steadying himself. Connor’s hands find his shoulders, and then trail along his arms, all the way down to his wrists. He slides his hands beneath Markus’ palms, and their fingers lace once more. When Markus’ eyes open once more, Connor is staring up at him.

“It’s okay, keep going.”

And then they’re moving. Markus, deep inside Connor, with their hands connected. Connor inhales sharply as Markus pulls back, and his mouth falls open as he thrusts back in. He curls his legs more tightly around Markus’ waist, and then lolls his head sideways.

“You feel perfect,” Connor practically coos as Markus builds up a rhythm. It’s hard to focus on Connor’s words with how intense the friction is, so he barely picks up anything out of the next thing Connor says. Markus can only look down at the face of his boyfriend, with his flushed cheeks and hazy eyes and soft, warm smile, as Connor says something that Markus can’t quite hear. It’s spoken affectionately though, that much he knows.

He’s so mesmerized by the vision that lies beneath him. How Connor smiles up at him, but in response to a particularly deep or angled thrust, his mouth falls open and he whimpers. His fingers stammer against Markus’ every now and then, and then it’s back to smiling.

Markus can’t stop himself from kissing that fucking smile. He uses his grip on Connor’s hands to guide them over his head and then dips down amidst a particularly deep thrust, kissing Connor as he moves. Connor moans into the kiss, and then the pace picks up.

Soon enough, they’re rocking together in unison, Markus’ movements angled upward and Connor’s legs tight around his waist to keep him deep inside. Markus grunts heavily into each thrust as the heat and pleasure starts to mount, and Connor moans shamelessly. There aren’t any words—just pleasured noises and the sounds of two bodies moving together.

Until Connor frees one of his hands and instead slides his arm around Markus’ shoulders. He sucks Markus’ earlobe into his mouth and moans low and deep. “I’m so close, Markus…”

He comes a handful of thrusts later, his body clenching tightly around Markus as his release spills out onto his chest and stomach. That tightness is all it takes to pull Markus over with him, and with a series of rough, erratic movements, he thrusts deep into Connor’s body, moaning his boyfriend’s name, as his orgasm hits in violent, pleasured waves.

When he looks down to see Connor beneath him, his release gleaming on his chest and stomach, cheeks still flushed, mouth hanging open, with the honey-tea in his eyes hazy and all the warmth in the world staring up at him through them…Markus knows that this is real. This moment is theirs, and Connor is _his_ , and he is _Connor’s_.

He’s happy. He’s so fucking happy.

As he pulls out, he dips down to kiss those lips once more. Connor is still panting, but he brings his hands up to trace circles along Markus’ shoulder blades. Markus tips his head and moves to lay half atop Connor, his face buried in the crook of the other man’s neck.

Connor doesn’t say anything. He just holds Markus against him and touches his back and his shoulders and his arms. Runs his fingers along his head. Presses kisses to his temple.

“Say…” Connor finally manages, after what feels like a solid half-hour of post-coital snuggling. “How would you like to meet my mom?”

On the list of things Connor could have said after sex, that was _not_ one Markus had expected. He’s left gaping at his boyfriend, genuinely shocked, before he pushes himself up into a sitting position.

“Yeah, okay.”

Connor’s request feels like a prediction. Markus can’t quite put his finger on it, but he feels like a storm is coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have officially passed the main story arc and are working our way into the second half of this story. I'm so excited to reveal more about Connor, and I also feel the need to point out that this story is definitely going to have a happy end, but the boys still have a pretty rocky road ahead of them.
> 
> That said, your encouragement and your comments and bookmarks and kudos get me through the parts on this fic that are tougher to write. Hell, they get me through some of my worst days. You guys are all amazing. Thank you so much for even giving this story a chance. It's so vividly AU from the actual game that I'm thoroughly moved that anyone is even reading it. 
> 
> Thank you, thank you. Seriously, I can't say it enough. I love you guys.


	12. Tempest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so we're officially in the second arc of the story. Prepare for a whirlwind of emotions, y'all. Markus has a lot to resolve all at once, and Connor's story is finally opening up. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

In a split-second decision following Connor’s invitation, the two men decide to take a bath together. It’s been quite literally years since the last time Markus took a bath—possibly even a decade—but he automatically finds he enjoys it. He settles in with his back against the end of the tub and Connor slinks in and rests his back against Markus’ chest. There’s next to zero room in the bathtub for the both of them, but that doesn’t stop them. It’s just them, snuggled up against one another, their bodies relaxed and absorbing the soothing warmth the water has to offer.

“How’s your head?” Connor wonders, as he traces soapy circles around Markus’ bent knee.

“It’s fine,” Markus replies simply, his head tipped back and eyes closed as he stares up at the ceiling. “Sometimes I forget it even happened, because the pain is gone.”

“That’s good,” Connor answers. “I took ballet back in high school, and one of my classmates fell and cracked her head on the barre. She went to the hospital for it and didn’t come back to class for a week. There was a lot more blood, though.”

“She’s okay, right?”

“As far as I know.” Connor shrugs. “I haven’t spoken to her since I graduated.”

The question Markus really wants to ask hangs in the air there, mingling with the steam that fogs up the mirror and makes the door handle slippery. Why are they suddenly visiting Connor’s mother? From the way Connor has spoken of her ever since he and Markus met, it seems like he’s not fond of her. Somehow, the idea that they’ve started dating and are doing the whole ‘meet the parents’ thing doesn’t feel right, because their situation is so very unlike any slice-of-life story relationship.

As if Connor feels that curiosity emanating from Markus, he shrugs again. “I got a phone call this morning from one of Mom’s good friends.”

Markus knows about the phone call. He had tried not to make his presence known that morning when he had witnessed Connor talking on the phone, but the curiosity has been there ever since it happened. He swallows down nervousness.

“I haven’t been keeping in touch with her. I was so bitter for such a long time.” Connor sighs, letting his palm dance along the surface of the water as he speaks. Markus admires how he gets so lost in his own world while he’s talking. This feels like a part of him that he doesn’t share with anyone else, except maybe Daniel. But Markus feels lucky to be one of those trusted people. “I still am, but I’m starting to think that maybe this is at least somewhat my fault.”

Markus frowns deeply there, but he doesn’t speak up. He continues to let Connor have the stage.

“When Mom adopted me, she told me she could see potential in me. I was young, but I was energetic and I was a quick learner. She knew I was special. She said that all the time.” Connor lets his hand sink beneath the water, and Markus gets lost in the way the gentle current created by the gesture swirls around the top of his hand. “I danced a lot. Mom would play the piano, and she was _good_. I would stand in her music room while she played and twirl around. She told me it was incredible to her that a five-year-old could find a beat without even trying.”

Strangely, Connor doesn’t sound sad. He just sounds like he’s talking about the weather. Either way, he continues. “At six, Mom took me to a fashion show. I watched people on the catwalk in awe. They moved so fluidly, and they looked so shameless and proud of themselves, like they belonged on that stage. I told Mom I wanted to be a model. It was really just five-year-old me figuring myself out, but Mom must have liked what she heard.”

“She took it seriously?” Markus wonders aloud, also partially to remind his boyfriend that he’s listening.

Connor nods. “Sort of. We got home and she and I played around with it. Had a blast that night with me trying on different outfits and posing in them. I treated the coffee table like a catwalk, and we laughed a lot and had a really good time. Looking back, Mom must have seen that I was good at what I was doing, because from that point forward, she tried her hardest to get me to what I had at one point thought was my dream.”

In essence, this sounds like a happy story. A boy realizes his dream and his mom encourages it. But Markus knows that isn’t all there is to it. Connor wouldn’t be talking about it now like this if it wasn’t. He wouldn’t be bitter toward his mother.

“At first, she was supportive,” Connor continues. Markus gets the feeling that he’s been wanting to talk about it for a while. “She would bring flowers to all my dance recitals and congratulate me. But somewhere along the line, I guess she decided she wanted to make her son a star and started working me harder. Before I knew it, I was going to kindergarten during the day and then taking two classes a night. I had one day a week to focus on studies, and I lived on a very strict diet.”

Connor lolls his head back and rests it at the crook of Markus’ neck. “I think Mom stopped smiling at me when I was about seven? She just kept pushing me harder and harder, and when I wasn’t where she wanted me to be, she told me I was getting distracted.”

Markus slides an arm around Connor’s waist, pulling him closer. It’s an attempt at reassurance, because Markus can’t fathom how in the hell any of this is Connor’s fault.

“I thought that was just the way life was supposed to go when you had a dream. I didn’t realize the situation until I got into college and all these other kids were having the time of their lives and my mom was freaking out if I didn’t respond to her texts right away. Daniel eventually told me I was being controlled.” Connor sighs. “I don’t regret dropping out. I feel so much more free ever since I did it, and I wouldn’t have met you if I was still there. I wouldn’t have met a lot of people.”

Markus’ situation is so vastly different from Connor’s that it’s often jarring to think about. Markus had it a lot easier. If he had told Carl he didn’t want to go into art or music or the things Carl himself was passionate about, Carl would have understood. Hell, if he had told him he wanted to work at a convenience store or a retail store his entire life, Carl would have let him. So long as he was happy.

“Did you ever tell her you weren’t sure that was what you wanted?” Markus wonders aloud.

Connor shakes his head. “How could I? Mom had spent all this time and money trying to make sure I got what she thought I wanted. It wasn’t until college that I realized I just couldn’t take it anymore.” He seems to push the thought aside and closes his eyes. “So when I got the phone call this morning, it was a bit of a shock.”

Markus can only imagine how Connor feels. He remembers the soft look of disdain on Connor’s face this morning, and feeling the need to stay out of the other man’s business until said other man felt compelled to talk about it. But right now, he almost wishes he had said something instead of leaving Connor alone to his thoughts. He bites back nervousness as Connor keeps speaking.

“I guess she’s been having repeated TIAs lately. A TIA is like a mini-stroke, and it can lead to a full-blown one if she’s not careful. They only caught it during one of her routine appointments.” Connor sighs and then sinks down against Markus a little more. “She smokes a lot, and she and Hank used to drink together. I just want to go see her and make sure she’s doing alright.”

Markus nods. “That’s good. I think that’ll be a helpful experience for both of you.”

Connor nods as well. “I think I’ve given off a pretty strong impression that I hate my mother, and maybe I thought I did for a while…but I don’t. I just wish she’d have let me live my life.”

Markus thinks for a moment about how he and Connor come from totally different walks of life. How he’d never been forced to evaluate the possibility that he’d loathed his father. He’d never had to run away from anything. At least, not until Carl passed away and he’d frozen himself in a still-life portrait set moments before he would have to face things he didn’t want to deal with.

“When do you want to go see her?”

“Mom moved out of town after I graduated high school, so we’ll be going to visit her up north. I’d like to spend a few days there.” Connor explains it all easily enough, which has Markus wondering if he’s been spending all morning thinking about it…aside from when they’d gotten caught up in bed together earlier. “She lives in an island town off of Lake Michigan called Nola. I was going to wait until the semester was over for you, and that would give me time to request the days off at work.”

Markus frowns. “What about your mother’s health?”

“Elijah promised he’d keep me posted,” Connor informs. “He told me not to rush out. He left this morning to keep her company.”

“He sounds like a good friend,” Markus observes warmly.

Connor just rolls his shoulders and decides that now is a good time to start washing up as he reaches for the shampoo bottle.

\--- --- --- --- ---

The next class day, Markus learns that ‘Elijah’ is actually the same Elijah he knows. One Professor Kamski, who has been teaching at his school for years, has taken two weeks of vacation to travel up north. The same Professor Kamski who had visited Carl in the hospital and been a close friend of his father. Who would have thought that his life was so closely connected with Connor’s before they’d met?

Either way, Connor and Markus spend a day debating exact days to head out and end up agreeing that leaving the day after Markus’ semester is over is fair. Connor puts in a request for a four-day weekend starting that following Thursday, and they resume their lives as normal.

Markus doesn’t have a lot of time to think about the dreams and hallucinations that have plagued him over recent months. With the semester ending and finals rolling up, he doesn’t have a lot of time for anything. Connor and Daniel visit often, but they’re more or less emotional support for all their friends while they bury themselves in their respective studies.

The chart still remains untouched on Markus’ bedside table. He plans on reading it, but with everything that’s coming up, he decides it’s better for his mental state to keep it where it is until he gets caught up. He’ll look it over once he gets back from visiting Amanda with Connor. He hasn’t had a nightmare since the morning when he’d found Connor on the phone, and they’re seeming to occur less and less often, so he doesn’t see the harm in waiting.

But he still can’t shake the thought that something is coming. Something isn’t quite right, and Markus doesn’t know what it is, but it sits in the pit of his stomach, where he has chosen to keep it tucked away for now.

He simply doesn’t have time for it.

April is shifting quickly toward May, and Markus’ last class is midway through the second week. When he’s not buried in his studies, he’s in his room, painting. Connor is sometimes at his side, commenting on how the work is slowly transforming into something else. The cottage on the lake that Markus had pictured after giving the work a second look-over is starting to show. There are no defined lines, and that’s intentional. Each color blends into the other, because that’s what Markus feels like it should do. He’s not questioning it. He just works with it, and when he gets frustrated, he walks away.

He also appreciates the lack of pressure from everyone about the sketch he had done of Connor. He does plan on revisiting that one, but it’s going to take some time. That one is special to him, and he wants to get it right.

The last weekend of April, Markus and his roommates all decide it’s time for a break. North suggests they head to the outskirts of town for a couple nights out camping. Everyone tags along, Connor and Daniel and Chloe included. They drive out in three different vehicles and set up tents for everyone. There’s plenty of alcohol to go around, but nobody drinks right away.

The first night, they’re occupied gathered around a campfire. Markus and Josh are slow-cooking spiced potatoes and peppers wrapped in aluminum foil, while Daniel and Simon exchange stories about their childhood together.

Markus can’t help but glance about their little circle of friends. Simon and Josh, sat next to each other, Josh stealing away Simon’s marshmallows before he can eat them. Chloe all nuzzled up against North, leaned sleepily on her shoulder. Daniel is laughing and carrying on as his brother playfully nudges him from time to time.

Presently, Connor isn’t a part of the circle. He’s gone off for what everyone had thought was a bathroom break, but he has yet to return. That’s been nearly half an hour, though, and Markus can’t help but feel a little concerned. After dismissing himself politely and promising to return with his boyfriend in tow, he steps away from the fire.

During the day, it’s warm out, but it’s definitely not summer. It’s still that point in spring where the days are mild and comfortable, but the nights are chilly. Since night has long-since washed over the horizon, it’s decently cold. Markus stops by his tent and grabs his jacket, shrugging it on.

The campsite is set near a lake and surrounded by tall trees. The lake has jetties that peer out over the water. There’s a hiking trail that circles around the lake and opens back up at the campgrounds. Markus knows Connor has gone off to do exactly what he’s done in the city before, which is to disappear on long walks. But he doesn’t quite get to the hiking trail before he spots Connor.

The sky is overcast today, but the moon is powerful. Between the tall trees, it peers down over the lake water and casts a bright reflection about it. In that reflection, standing at one of the jetties, Markus can see the outline of Connor’s form, just standing there. He’s got his arms wrapped around him, and he seems to be focused out on the water. He isn’t moving, and he almost looks like a part of the scenery itself with how still he is.

Markus admires the sight briefly, before he makes his approach. Connor stiffens for a moment when he hears Markus’ footsteps, but he relaxes when his boyfriend speaks up.

“Needed a walk?” Markus questions as he moves to stand beside the other man. Connor doesn’t release his grip on his own arms.

“The path through the woods was too dark, so I came out here.” Connor shrugs his shoulders. “I just needed some fresh air.”

Now that he can see Connor’s face, Markus can tell something is on his mind. What exactly, he has chosen not to voice, but Markus doesn’t have it in his heart to be pushy. “…You alright?” He asks, prepared to leave it at that.

Connor talks about things when he wants to. He had talked about Amanda to Markus a few times, and he had confided in him about Hank. But right now, he seems to want to keep whatever is on his mind to himself, and Markus doesn’t feel the need to pressure him into talking. If their spontaneous conversation in the bathtub is any telling factor, Connor will talk about it when he feels like doing so.

Connor smiles up at him, and then shakes his head. “I’m fine. I’m just not used to being out here, is all. I know the city like the back of my hand, but I’m out of my element here.”

“That’s why you should just ask me to show you around,” Markus teases in response. He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over Connor’s shoulders.

Connor scoffs, but he almost instantly slides his arms into the sleeves. “You’re such a stereotypical gentleman,” Connor tells him, but his words are riddled with affection, and he almost instantly shifts over to lean against Markus. Markus has learned by now that Connor’s voice softens when he’s being affectionate like this, so he absolutely doesn’t take the words personally. Instead, he slides an arm out and curls it around Connor’s waist.

“You don’t like the cold,” Markus points out simply, and Connor scoffs again.

“When did I ever say that?”

“You didn’t have to,” Markus replies with a shrug. “You wear heavy jackets and steal my hoodies and stocking caps. Not that I mind sharing.”

“Mom and Daniel both get hot easily,” Connor argues. “It’s become a habit to wear more because they’re always freezing up the damned house.”

“So you’re solidifying my point, then,” Markus jokes. He briefly fantasizes about a future in which he and Connor are living under the same roof, because he’s not too crazy about the cold himself, so he won’t be ‘freezing up the damned house’ as Connor just so eloquently put it. He chooses to keep that thought to himself, however.

“Good to know you wouldn’t freeze me out,” Connor pipes up suddenly, and there’s a moment where Markus is legitimately shocked by the timing of those words. It’s almost as if Connor just heard his thoughts, and shit if he isn’t a little embarrassed by that. But then, Connor shifts around in the jacket he’s borrowing and Markus realizes he’s referring to the warmth he had been given just now. “You’re the best, Markus.”

Connor turns to face him, and Markus feels like he’s looking at some sort of mythical being. Connor is so pale in the moonlight, and the bright gleaming in his eyes casts such a vibrant reflection from the moon trying to peer into them that they look even more alive than usual. He’s all bundled up in Markus’ jacket, and despite being just an inch or so shorter than him, Connor’s slender frame swims in the article. Despite that, it looks like he wears it better than Markus himself does. Connor smiles fondly up at him, and then turns his gaze out to the water.

“If it wasn’t like fifty degrees right now, I’d suggest we take a swim.”

Markus just laughs and shakes his head. “I, uh, I can’t swim.”

Connor frowns up at him. “You can’t?” He chuckles softly for a second, and then raises a hand to Markus’ chest. “And here I was, thinking you were just about good at everything…”

“Surprise,” Markus teases back, letting his eyes roam over the way the shadows play on Connor’s face and neck and shoulders. He looks so dreamy like this, staring out over the water. “I don’t know how. I’m actually a little scared to learn.” He thinks back to the most recent dream he’d had about the water. About his younger self drowning in it as it rushed up the stairs and swirled its way into his room. He’s almost certain that whatever has him so afraid of deep water is the same thing that led to him being adopted in the first place. His father was in the hospital, and his mother…gone. Dead. In heaven, as his father had put it.

Markus shakes the thoughts from his head, and the gesture draws Connor’s attention up to him. “…You okay?”

“I’m fine, Con.” Markus shakes his head a little more slowly this time. “Just thinking.”

“Con?” Connor smiles and his gaze drops down to Markus’ chest. “We’re giving out pet names, now?”

“It honestly just slipped out,” Markus replies easily, and Connor laughs again.

“I like it. It sounds like something you’d call me.” Connor turns away from the water and takes Markus’ hand into his own. He strides forward and toward the land almost slowly, and Markus glances down at their joined hands. Connor has linked two of their fingers, but as they move, he shifts so that their palms are pressed together and their fingers laced. Markus, despite not having his jacket on anymore, feels warm all over.

Connor directs them back toward the campsite, but before they’re within visibility of their friends, he shifts so that he’s walking backward, tugging Markus along in front of him. He backs up against a tree and reaches up with his free hand. Markus feels long, thin fingers trace the side of his face, and his eyes meet the warmest pair of honey-tea brown. Connor looks almost lost in thought as he cocks his head to the side and speaks up.

“I’ve always felt lost…” His voice is so soft, and Markus thinks he almost sounds sad. He frowns at those words. “Even knowing the city of Detroit as well as I do, or thinking I know what I want to do with my future, I’ve felt that way. To this day, I’m still questioning where I even belong. But you always have this way of making me feel at home, no matter where it is I may be.”

That hand on the side of Markus’ face slides down to cup the back of his neck, and Connor pulls him down for a kiss.

And god, Markus melts right into it. It seems like every time he kisses Connor, it’s a different kind of feeling. This one is soft and slow and even wistful. Connor doesn’t realize it, but it’s almost as if he’s pouring his heart into it. Markus wonders so violently what is on his mind that he nearly pulls away to ask, but instead, he just props his elbow up against the bark of the tree Connor’s leaning up against and kisses him back. He feels Connor’s hand slip away from his own, and then both of those arms are around his neck.

“I’m here whenever you need me,” Markus replies into the kiss, before he presses himself closer to the other man. They slip into silence there, just kissing slowly up against that tree, lips moving to the tune of the insects chirping around them and the gentle breeze rustling the grass and leaves.

When they finally do return to the campsite, Josh has finished cooking what he and Markus started up and is dishing the contents out onto paper plates for everyone. Chloe has fallen asleep, her head resting in North’s lap, and North is trying to wake her so they can eat. Simon and Daniel have finally broken into the alcohol and are passing beers around to everyone.

It amazes Markus how well Connor slips right into the festivities, but it’s also difficult to tell whether he’s actually enjoying them or if he’s just playing the part to keep the mood up. Markus isn’t catching any of the conversation taking place, because he’s so lost in watching the way Connor smiles and laughs with all their friends, and how easily he joins in the conversation. Markus is searching…desperately trying to look for any sign that Connor is just playing a role, but he can’t find one.

He doesn’t return to the present until he feels the warmth of a jacket being draped over his shoulders. Connor moves to take a seat next to him, and Markus realizes he was just returning the jacket he’d been lent a little bit ago. Connor now sports his own jacket, hood pulled up over his head and all. Markus takes a moment to admire the way the curls atop his head peek out from the top of that hood just somewhat.

He flashes a smile up at Markus as he offers a beer out to him, though Markus can tell his next words are directed to everyone sitting around the fire. “So…I can’t be the only one who’s never been camping before, right?”

Markus hadn’t gone camping before he’d graduated high school. He and North and Simon and Josh had all made it something of a yearly habit once they’d started college—usually a mental break from finals or midterms—but before that, he’d been just as new to it as Connor. Daniel has usually accompanied them on the trip, so that leaves Chloe, who is now awake and trying to rub the sleep out of her eyes.

Looking at her, Markus can see why North fell so quickly for her. She’s gorgeous on the outside, with full lips and the softest hair that she’s got pulled up into a loose ponytail. Her eyes are such a bright blue that they almost put the hue in Simon’s to shame. Even half-asleep, she looks like she’s glowing.

And if North is sticking around by her side after being cheated on, Markus imagines Chloe has one hell of a fun streak, to boot.

“If you count sleeping outside of uncle Li’s house,” Chloe murmurs, her voice a little raspy from sleeping, “in one of his rich people tents, then I guess I’ve done it before.”

“Rich people tents?” Daniel cocks an eyebrow.

Chloe just shrugs. “You know—spacious, comes with separate rooms. The one Uncle Li let me use even had a closet.”

“Jesus,” Daniel exhales. “Next time we go camping, you’re bringing this tent.”

Chloe laughs, but she doesn’t give him an answer. Instead, she turns her focus to Connor. “So, you’ve never camped before?”

Connor shrugs his shoulders. “Nope. Weekends and parties weren’t really my thing up until I met Daniel. Do you guys actually sit around the campfire and roast marshmallows and tell scary stories?”

Simon finishes a bite of the food that’s being passed around. “I mean, we roasted marshmallows while you and Markus were out doing whatever. The scary stories? Not typically, unless Daniel feels like being an ass.”

Daniel scoffs. “Simon doesn’t like ghost stories.”

“I can handle them just fine, thank you,” Simon retorts with surprisingly quick reaction time. “Daniel just likes to get up in the middle of the night and make you piss yourself by showing up outside of your tent after you finish off a night of scary stories and go to bed.”

“True story,” North joins in with a laugh. “He got me so badly one time that I made all four of us sleep together in the same tent.”

“It was a two-person tent,” Josh points out. “North took up most of it.”

“Oh, fuck off. _You’re_ the bedhog.”

“I beg to differ,” Chloe interjects. Markus watches Daniel damn near fall out of his lawn chair laughing in response.

“I’ll pass on the ghost stories,” Connor joins in with a soft laugh. He prods at the food on his plate. “But these potatoes…guys, you’re onto something with these.”

It’s nothing major—just a concoction Markus and Josh had invented one morning when the contents of their cooler had spoiled during one trip and all they’d had left were some potatoes and a few bell peppers. They’d diced them up and thrown some spice into them, then wrapped it all up in aluminum foil and roasted it over the fire. It’s now become something of a tradition to enjoy them at least once a trip.

Markus doesn’t drink much, and neither does Connor. Without things like television or music to distract him, he notices just how often Connor slips off into thought. Sometimes, he’ll be staring off into space, and other times, he’ll be looking right at Markus. At one point, he just slumps over against him and curls an arm around his own.

The conversation is still as energetic as ever, but Markus slips his attention away from it and glances down at the man leaning against him. Connor has finished half of his drink and most of his food, but he has set them aside on the ground in favor of leaning against Markus.

“Are you tired?”

Connor nods, his head rubbing little up and downs against Markus’ shoulder. “It’s been a long day. I promise I’ll be more fun tomorrow. Plus, I’m cold.”

“Who said you had a fun quota?” Markus laughs softly, before he reaches out to cup the side of Connor’s head. His fingers trace through the soft hair at that, before he presses a kiss to the top of his hair. “I’m pretty tired, too. C’mon, let’s go rest.”

It’s a little strange to Markus, how Connor is the first one to get tired this time around. Normally, he goes to bed because Markus is doing so, and the one time he actually _was_ tired first, he had fought sleep even with the weights of inebriation and THC heavy against him. But right now, he recedes right into Markus as they get to their feet and bid their friends goodnight.

Connor must really be worried about Amanda…

“Have you heard anything about your mom?” Markus questions as they dress for bed. Connor slips the hoodie Markus gave him over his head after he changes into his pajamas, and slides down onto the inflatable mattress, looking up at Markus as he changes into his own clothes.

“Nothing’s changed, if that’s what you mean,” Connor voices calmly. He then smiles as Markus joins him on the bed. “But you’re concerned about me, aren’t you?”

Connor looks every bit as sleepy as he said he is. Even with his head on his hand, propped up on his elbow, he’s visibly tired. His eyes are half-lidded and his speech is softer than usual. It’s just another of the many facets of Connor Stern that Markus has been gifted with the chance to witness. He adores this man so very much that he finds his chest physically aches every time he gets to see a new side of him.

“Of course I am,” Markus replies easily as he pulls the blankets over their bodies. He’s gone on enough camping trips since graduating high school that he knows they’re going to need more than one, so he’s got three covering them right now. Connor seems to appreciate it, as he practically melts beneath the sheets and allows his head to rest on his pillow while he looks up at Markus. “You’ve got a lot on your plate. Besides, you’re always worrying about me, so it’s about time I return the favor.”

“You’re stupid,” Connor laughs, before he scoots closer. His hands lock into place on Markus’ chest, and Markus curls an arm underneath his head, sliding the other around his waist. “It’s just been a very long time since I last saw Mom. I’m trying to decide what to expect.”

“Does she know you’re coming?” Markus questions, his fingers tracing light circles along the base of Connor’s spine, just beneath the hem of his shirt.

“Yeah,” Connor replies around a yawn. “She was as curt as ever, though. Sometimes, I don’t think she missed me at all. But I mean…she’s my _mom_. I think back to how she was when I was young, and then I remember how she got when I got older. I don’t know how this is going to go. I almost feel guilty asking you to come along, but I’m not sure if I can do it alone.”

There it is. That’s what Connor’s been thinking about this whole time. Markus has never really had any issues telling Connor how he felt, but Markus has never had to repress his feelings—at least, not willingly. His father had always encouraged him to say what was bothering him so that they could work around it. Connor had likely been pressured into feeling guilty for disagreeing with his mother’s methods. Choosing not to talk to her after he dropped out of school was likely the only thing he’d imagined he could do to escape.

But now, he’s worried about her health. He doesn’t hate her, but at the same time, he doesn’t know what kind of person he’s going to run into when they get to that little island town in north Michigan, and Connor’s afraid of that.

“I don’t mind coming, regardless,” Markus reassures him. Holding onto Connor like this makes him feel tired too. It’s no wonder Connor slips in close when he’s trying to fall asleep. “I don’t know how badly your mother is doing when it comes to her health, but I took care of Dad for a long time. I might be able to show you a thing or two about caring for her in the event that she needs the help.”

Markus notices how Connor hesitates there, before he pulls away and turns brown eyes up to meet Markus’ gaze. “…You don’t think I’ll have to stay and care for her, do you?”

Markus shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry.” He raises his hand from around Connor’s waist and instead trails his fingers down his shoulder. “If you choose to do that, then I’ll help you out the best I can. But eventually even I had to hire a home health agency to care for Dad. You’re not a bad son if you decide against it.”

“She _raised_ me,” Connor points out, though Markus gets the feeling it’s more to himself than anyone else. “And it’s not like I have schooling getting in the way. But I don’t want to leave you guys—”

“—shh, Con…You’re overthinking it.”

Connor’s eyes grow glassy there, and he smiles the biggest smile Markus has seen in a long time. “That nickname again.”

Markus just shrugs and keeps speaking. “You don’t have to leave anyone. If you feel like you’re obligated to give her some of your time by caring for her, set up weekends where you go stay with her, and arrange for someone to care for her while you’re back in Detroit. I’ll tag along as much as you need me to. But,” he shrugs again, “that’s assuming she needs that kind of assistance. I wouldn’t jump the gun until we go visit her, okay?”

Connor takes that moment to give himself a slow sigh, before he nods. “Yeah, you’re right. Thank you, Markus.” He scoots in close again. “How you did all of this by yourself when your dad got sick is beyond me…”

As Connor nuzzles up against Markus’ chest and starts to drift off to sleep, Markus finds himself thinking that maybe it was easier for him than Connor. Markus’ relationship with his father was always an amicable one, and on top of that, both he and Carl have always lived in Detroit…

This is going to be an interesting visit. Markus knows that much for sure.

\--- --- --- --- ---

_“I don’t wanna take a picture…”_

_“It’s okay, baby…”_

_Markus’ mother has such a soothing voice. It reminds him of the caramel being drizzled onto an ice cream sundae. So sweet and reassuring and comforting, especially in the moment. Even though Markus doesn’t want to have his picture taken, Mama is standing right there, waiting for him, that big smile on her lips and her arms extended. She pouts a little and gestures with her hands for Markus to come stand with her._

_“Don’t make me take this picture all by myself…” She begs, and Markus realizes he doesn’t have the heart to refuse. He makes an obvious pout, and then jogs over to stand with her. She moves behind him, dropping to her knees, and curls an arm around his waist. “Alright, hon’, we’re ready!”_

_Markus just manages to smile in time for the camera to flash—_

_—the flash from the lightning is blinding. The sun had been shining when the boat had first departed, but the weather has shifted so violently in the course of the past hour and a half that the captain is declaring a state of emergency. It was supposed to just be a trip out to a neighboring island for snorkeling, but there’s no way that’s happening now. The ship pitches so violently in the waves that staff are urging passengers toward the center of the boat and getting as many indoors as they can fit._

_Markus clings to the rail for dear life, as the rain comes down in thick sheets. He’s standing there, frozen with fear, sobbing, as he tries to keep his balance. He just wants to go home. Back home with his Mama and Papa to the big fishtank in their foyer._

_“Markus! Baby, you have to go inside, okay?” Mama is begging for him to let go of the rail. Her sweet, caramel-drizzle voice sounds drenched in water, just like Markus' entire form as he clings to the rail and screams over the downpour._

_“I can't!” Markus whimpers. He feels his mother's hand on his shoulder, tugging him away. “I'll fall!”_

_“I won't let you fall, you know that…” Mama tells him from next to him. “Now, come on…we need to get to the inside—”_

_—“I, uh, I can’t swim.” Markus’ gaze is on Connor as they stand out on one of the lake’s jetties._

_“You can’t?”_

_“Surprise…I don’t know how. I’m actually a little scared to learn—”_

_Markus is alone in his tent. Alone, on his back, staring in horror up at the ceiling of it as rainwater pours down in waves so fierce that it manages to seep through the weatherproofing. It starts its descent onto him in the form of little drip-droplets, but eventually, it’s rushing through like the rain itself is powerful enough to bore holes into the tent._

_He can’t move. He’s frozen with fear, and helpless and so very at the mercy of the incoming downpour as it forms puddles of water in the tent. Connor is nowhere to be seen._

_The puddles rapidly become pools, and the water level soon exceeds the foot-and-a-half height of the air mattress, creeping like deformed, watery fingers onto the bed. Markus wants to scream as the water crawls over his skin and covers his arms and neck, and then seeps into his ears. He can’t even work up the strength to tip his chin up and away from it, and as it surrounds his mouth and filters into his nostrils, he squeezes his eyes shut—_

—And then he jolts awake. It comes with a sharp gasp and a clap of thunder outside. The warmth pressed next to him tells Markus that Connor is still lying on the air mattress with him. He feels relieved at that realization. But he can’t really focus on anything. He feels extremely sick to his stomach, and his pulse is racing.

He needs fresh air. It’s pouring outside, but he doesn’t care right now.

Markus tries his best to extract himself from Connor’s hold without waking him, but he’s apparently not as good at it as his boyfriend is, because he gets halfway out of the bed before the other man is sitting upright, muttering his name through the obvious sleep in his voice.

“Markus? Where are you going?”

It’s an easy enough question. Markus could get by simply by saying ‘gotta pee’ or ‘forgot something in the car’ and been on his way, but nothing he says is coming out right. It’s like a fraction of the water in his dream is still heavy in his throat, and he’s starting to think he might legitimately throw up. He attempts something of a weak nod in Connor’s direction, and then shoves his shoes on and stumbles out of the tent, zipping it shut behind him.

The rain, just like in Markus’ nightmare, is coming down in thick sheets. The instant he’s outside, it soaks his clothes. It’s cold and miserable, but Markus barely notices. He stumbles forward toward a tree a few yards away from where their fire had been and doubles over onto his knees. He coughs, gags, but nothing comes up.

What in the _fuck_ did he just dream?

Was that really his mother? Markus remembers her voice, and he knows the younger version of himself in the dream could see her face, but he can’t for the life of him recall what she looked like now. His heart is pounding, and his chest physically aches. He almost feels as if he’s dying. He’s struggling to catch his breath.

“Markus!”

Connor’s voice just barely reaches him through the pouring rain, but he still can’t manage the words to speak to him. He wants to tell him to go back inside—to just give him a few minutes—but his throat is too tight. Instead, he reaches a hand out and tries to wave Connor off.

“Damn it, Markus!” Connor roars in protest. Markus faintly sees him pace around him, before he drops to his knees in front of him and reaches out. He takes hold of his shoulder. “What the hell is _wrong_ with you!?”

Markus tries to speak again, but it comes out as a cough. He shakes his head, peering up at Connor, and moves to shove him away.

It’s in this moment that he learns that Connor is surprisingly strong. Not only is he powerful enough to take hold of Markus by the front of his shirt and shove him back against the bark of the nearby tree, but the ferocity in his expression and the angry hue in his eyes has such a hold on Markus that he almost forgets the sound of the rain in favor of all of it.

“No!” Connor snarls angrily, pinning Markus there. “I need you to focus! What the hell is going on?”

The thing is, Markus doesn’t even know the answer to that. He vaguely understands his dream—he was taking a picture during a vacation with his mother, and then they were on a boat that had encountered a sudden storm. He’s not stupid. He knows that if his dream actually serves as a memory and not just a product of his overactive imagination, his mother died on that day. His fear of swimming stems from that day.

But is it real, or isn’t it?

Markus finally chokes out a response, and he hates how the anxiety in his chest makes it sound like he’s going to break down crying. “Is…is it actually raining right now?”

Connor’s resolve weakens there, and his grip on Markus’ shirt falters. Through the mop of soaking wet hair sticking to his forehead and dangling in front of his eyes, he nods quickly. “Yeah, Markus. It really is.”

Memory is such a tricky thing. Markus wonders if, in the moment, he had noticed that it hadn’t been raining on those days. He had been _certain_ it was raining on the day Simon had found him in the art room, but the night he and Leo had fought and spilled their father’s ashes…Markus can’t recall. But it’s really raining right now, and that means that Markus isn’t still locked in a hallucination, and that’s all that matters.

God, it feels good to be able to breathe again.

It’s so cold out here, and Connor is knelt in front of Markus with nothing but his pajamas and that hoodie on. He doesn’t seem to be shivering, but he also doesn’t seem to care. He’d just…bolted out here and confronted Markus.

“G…Go back inside, okay?” Markus tries. His throat still feels a little tight and the words come out strained, but it beats how he’d felt moments ago. “I just needed some air.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Connor snaps back, though there’s no real malice to his tone. “You freaked me out, getting up all of a sudden like that. What’s going on?”

Markus can’t bring himself to answer right away. Sometimes, these nightmares are embarrassing. Markus is the only one who can actually see them, so when he comes back to reality and sees Connor being so concerned for something that isn’t even real, it’s embarrassing.

“Did you hallucinate again?” Connor asks, and Markus knows without asking that Connor is certain he’s right.

He doesn’t want to answer, but if Connor came out here to get soaked to the bone with him over it, Markus at least owes him a response. “…I think I met my mom.”

Connor’s grip falls from Markus’ shirt altogether. “…Then why are you so afraid?”

“…I learned how she died.”

Markus is so tired of all of this. He’s so tired of being disoriented, and of being scared when he wakes up. He’s tired of seeing things that aren’t there, and he’s tired of wondering when the next nightmare is going to strike. Just when he’d thought he was going to get a break, one storm hits and triggers a whole new kind of nightmare, and something that Markus thinks might have been a legitimate panic attack. And not only does he have to suffer through all of this, but he’s putting his friends and boyfriend through it, too.

He doesn’t remember ever feeling like this before Carl passed away, and for the briefest and most regretful of moments in his entire life, he curses his father for leaving him.

“Do you remember the box step I taught you?” Connor asks, out of the blue, and when Markus looks up at him, he finds himself fighting yet another breakdown. Connor is smiling. He’s shivering and soaked through that pale skin of his, but he’s still smiling. He takes a step back and extends a hand out to Markus.

“Connor…I don’t think now is—”

“I didn’t ask whether now was anything,” Connor cuts him off, waving his hand for Markus to get up. “Come on. Dance pop quiz starts now.”

Markus sees what Connor is doing. A part of him wants to tell him he’s not in the mood, but he also gets the feeling Connor isn’t going to let him refuse. He’s tired, and his arms and legs feel heavy, but here Connor is, waiting for him to take his hand.

So he does. Connor, using that surprising strength of his, pulls Markus to his feet and draws him in. He guides him away from the roots of that tree and lines his left hand up with Markus’ right. Markus frowns, but follows suit and falls into place, just like they had on that bed.

Connor leads them, and Markus wonders where he finds his beat. Is it the rain, or the harsh wind rustling on the trees? Or maybe it’s the thrumming of Markus’ heart, which still hasn’t slowed down in pace. Either way, he has them in perfect rhythm without even trying. He starts out slow, leading Markus away from the campfire and closer to the lake. They sway, spinning in perfect step with Connor’s movements, until he picks up the pace.

And Markus finds it surprisingly easy to keep up. For a while, he’s watching the ground as they move, but eventually, he peers up and looks right into Connor’s eyes. Connor is watching him, a soft smile on his lips, and Markus realizes as he watches back that it’s almost like they’re dodging the heavy raindrops. Almost as if Connor is leading him through the storm. Through the rain and the thunder and out of the torrential downpour of negative emotions Markus had damn near caved in to just now.

Markus can’t help himself. He stops dancing and curls his arms around Connor’s shoulders. Buries his face in the crook of his boyfriend’s neck and just…inhales him. Inhales the scent of his skin and the rain soaking it. He feels Connor’s arms slide around his waist, and god, how can one person feel so weak and so strong all at the same time? Sometimes, Connor makes Markus feel like he could take on the entire world, and he feels like putty in the same instance.

He feels Connor shift and nuzzle his head against his own.

“Are you alright?” Connor asks.

Markus _is_ alright. He’s so much better right now, and it’s all because of Connor and his weird method of escapism. He knows that the only reason Connor knew to do it is because he’s a habitual escapist himself, and his heart aches for the other man. Markus knows that when he gets back home, he needs to at least give Lucy a call and report to her on what happened, but how can he help Connor? Is just being there going to be good enough for someone who is so used to dodging his own feelings that Markus has never once seen him break down?

They’re not okay. Neither of them are. They’re so very broken in their own way, and Markus wants to help put them back together. He wants to be by Connor’s side, just as Connor always has for him.

He’s so in love that the words almost spill from his lips there.

“I’m okay, yeah,” Markus replies as he pulls back. He takes Connor’s face into both of his hands and just shakes his head. “I never know what to expect from you.”

Connor smiles. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

And then they’re kissing again. Soaked and both shivering, cold lips move against cold lips, and Markus somehow feels warm all over. He traces his fingers through hair so wet the water courses down his hand, and Connor balls his hands up in his rain-soaked shirt.

He barely manages keep track of the way they move back to the tent, but once they’re there, they’re peeling sopping wet clothes off of one another’s bodies. Connor laughs at the sound it makes when Markus tugs the shirt from his frame. They should probably put on dry clothes, but Markus is too focused on the way Connor kisses him and pulls him atop his body onto the bed. He’s too caught up in the way Connor moans softly as he opens his legs for him again. How warm he feels from the inside as he takes him right there on the air mattress. How Connor covers his own mouth to stifle his moans as they move together.

He’s hardly able to function once their bodies grow still. They make out languidly, panting into their slow kisses while they work to come down from the high they’ve managed to reach together. And when they’re done, it’s an effort to clean up and slip into dry clothes. But somehow, they do, and once they’re beneath warm sheets and in warm clothes again, Markus’ body feels so heavy that he can’t imagine enduring another nightmare last night.

He has Connor to thank for the fact that he can sleep again. He doesn’t know how he would have survived this night and so many before it without him.

\--- --- --- --- ---

The next morning, it’s no surprise that Connor has earned himself a cold. How Markus isn’t feeling the same way is beyond him, but poor Connor looks utterly miserable. His complexion is more pale than usual, and his eyes hazy with illness. He coughs from the minute he wakes up until the minute Markus decides their camping trip is over.

“You sure you guys wanna leave this early?” Daniel questions as he passes a bottle of water to Connor.

It’s kind of Markus’ fault that Connor had wound up sick, so of course he’s sure. Connor himself doesn’t look like he wants to leave, but he’s layered up in his warmest outfit, Markus’ hoodie, and has a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Markus is going to take him home and make sure he gets to feeling better.

“I don’t,” Connor rasps, sniffling loudly afterward. “But the Fun Police here says I have to.”

“You want to get sicker?” Markus lectures affectionately, reaching out to ruffle his boyfriend’s hair. “Look, we get to my place, I’ll make you whatever you want to eat and I won’t even quarantine you like my friends do.”

“No!” Josh retorts as he works to start up the campfire again. “You quarantine him! If I come home and get sick, I’m killing you both.”

Simon flashes smiles between Josh and Markus and Connor. “Just Lysol everything, alright?”

“Roger that,” Markus replies. He curls his arm around Connor’s waist and guides him to his car, helping him into the passenger’s side. Once he gets it started and warming up, he packs up the rest of the tent and loads it into the trunk. He wishes his friends luck and then moves to climb into his car.

Connor is already asleep. He’s got the seat kicked back a little, his head propped up on a makeshift pillow he fabricated out of the blanket he’d been using, and he’s fast asleep as if he hadn’t slept all night long.

And yeah, it sucks that he’s sick, and Markus’ heart goes out to him, but goddamn if he doesn’t look so peaceful like he is right now. Markus can’t help but glance over every now and then as he drives, taking in the sight of Connor’s head bobbing gently with the bumps in the road or when he makes a turn. Even sick, snoring a little from the stuffy nose he’d awakened with, he’s so damned gorgeous that Markus melts a little more.

Markus thinks that this is how it should be. Him, by Connor’s side, seeing every new face of the dodecahedron that makes up his personality. Sick Connor, sad Connor, drunk or high Connor, happy Connor, a Connor so caught up in emotion that he can’t contain it. Markus wants to know everything about him. What meals to fix him when he’s sad or not feeling well. What shows to put on when he doesn’t know what to watch. What clothes he likes to wear, or what music he prefers.

And he starts to feel like maybe he’s going to get that. As he walks Connor into his apartment and takes his temperature and makes him take Tylenol, and as he lowers Connor into his bed and strokes his hair and Connor begs him to lie down with him, and as he curls his arms tightly around him and nuzzles his forehead, he thinks that this could be all he needs.

Connor could very well be the road to his recovery, and with a lot of work, Markus can make sure to be the same for him.

\--- --- --- --- ---

And it is that way, until it isn’t.

On the ninth day of May, just shy of a week before their trip to see Amanda, Markus awakens to pounding on his door. Déjà vu guides him into the living room, where he opens the door to see a panicked Daniel standing in front of him. Out of breath, Daniel shakes his head.

“I need your help. Connor’s gone missing.”

Apparently, this happens all the time. Daniel freaks out, calls the police, and a full-scale search is directed to seek out Connor. The last time, Markus had found him outside of that dance studio and everything had pretty much resolved itself.

“Have you checked the usual places?” Markus questions as his friends filter out of their rooms and fill the living room.

“Just help me look for him, okay? I’ll explain later.”

Markus shivers violently, because the way Daniel has said those words, it feels like they’re ice seeping into his veins.

Something isn’t right. Something definitely isn’t right. Whatever it is Daniel feels the need to explain later on, it’s bad.

Markus has never gotten dressed more quickly in his entire life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, Connor's not dead. I would warn for major character death, I swear!
> 
> Also, I'm going to preface my apology for the cliffhanger by saying this fic doesn't have a sad ending! 
> 
> All that said, thank you so so much for your comments and bookmarks and kudos. You are all so amazing. This is the longest fic I have written in my entire like 12 years of writing, and I'm so honored to receive all the lovely reviews I've gotten. I seriously love you guys so much. Thank you for supporting me on what is my longest writing road thus far.


	13. Beneath Your Beautiful Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hhhhh don't ever get depression people, it sucks and drains the life out of you!
> 
> I'm back again with a new chapter, and I really toiled over this one. There's so much information piled in this chapter that it was kind of a battle of "god is this too much" and "what am I even writing" and "okay no this is kind of okay", but I think I reached a point where I'm finally okay with it enough to post it. 
> 
> I really hope you guys enjoy it, and I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting!

“I was starting to think you weren’t coming back.”

Lucy’s voice is soft, despite her words. If Markus were to look up from his lap, he would see that she’s smiling, but he can’t seem to tear his gaze away from his own legs, where his hands rest on his knees, nearly balled into fists around his kneecaps. He hasn’t decided the exact reason why he came in here, but he knows he needs Lucy.

It’s been three days since Connor’s disappearance, and the man hasn’t answered his calls or texts a single time. He hasn’t answered Daniel’s, or Simon’s, or Josh’s. Hell, even North has tried only to come up empty-handed.

Okay, so maybe he does know why he visited Lucy. He hasn’t had a nightmare since Connor left, but he suspects it’s because he hasn’t slept nearly as much, and his mind hasn’t really deviated from the fact that his boyfriend has decided to go missing at random.

Markus doesn’t realize he hasn’t answered Lucy until she speaks up again. And this time, he does look up to acknowledge her words.

“In any case, it’s good to see you. How are you feeling?”

Markus shakes his head and scoffs. “I’m…I’m alright.”

“You came here for some reason, right?” Lucy wonders aloud. She’s standing, leaned up against her desk, while she watches him carefully. “Did you review your chart?”

No. Markus hasn’t touched the chart. His mind has been so occupied by everything that has happened that he hasn’t even given it a second thought. And frankly, he isn’t alright, but he also doesn’t feel like he’s the one who has a right to not be okay at the moment.

He scowls down at his lap again, brow furrowed, and shakes his head.

“I’ve been busy.”

“That’s understandable. You’ve had class. Isn’t it the end of the semester, now?”

“Yeah,” Markus nods. In the moment, he’d actually been grateful for finals. He’d been able to keep his mind occupied while he worked. He’d taken in the painting of the little cottage that he’d been working on, and he’d somehow managed to pass his finals even though he’d been completely distracted all semester. But now that he’s just a few days away from the day he and Connor were supposed to leave for Amanda’s house, he wishes he had more to occupy him.

Perhaps that’s why he came to see Lucy. To focus on his own past and get his mind off of Connor while he can’t do anything about his disappearance, and to do exactly what Daniel suggested he do.

God, he’s been so selfish…

\--- --- --- --- ---

_“He’s not at any of the regular spots,” Daniel curses as they return to Markus’ apartment. By now, the police have started to help searching, and Hank has agreed to fan out with a few officers of his own to see if they can find out where he went._

_God…why won’t Connor just answer his phone?_

_It’s pushing ten in the morning, and they’ve still heard nothing. Daniel curses several times and drops himself into a sitting position on the couch. He leans forward, resting his weight on his knees._

_Markus doesn’t bother sitting down. He knows the instant he does, he’ll stand right back up and start pacing. Daniel looks like he wants to do the same. North, Josh, Chloe, and Simon all frown pitifully at the two of them._

_“You guys can go,” Daniel tells them, flashing them a tired glare from the couch. “Just…get some sleep or some shit. We’ll figure out what to do next after you get some rest. People are still searching for him, so it’ll be alright.”_

_Markus swallows thickly. “…I really hope you’re right.” He ignores the scowl on North’s face in response to the words as their friends disappear to their rooms, and instead turns his focus to Daniel. “You talked this morning like you knew what happened. Can you tell me that part, now?”_

_Daniel grits his teeth, eyes squeezing shut in frustration, before he shakes his head and lets out a sigh. “It may not be my business to tell you, Markus. It’s Connor’s choice.”_

_“Connor’s missing,” Markus responds curtly. “I think that if whatever you know is going to give me any clue as to where he might be, then you should tell me.”_

_“Or you could rely on the fact that I know what I’m doing and call it good,” Daniel snaps back._

_“That’s not how this works,” Markus retorts. “You told me you’d explain, and I’m his boyfriend.”_

_“The boyfriend card?” Daniel scoffs at him. “That’s real fucking low, Markus. Your relationship status doesn’t have anything to do with whether or not you get to know everything about him.”_

_They’re tense. They’re both exhausted and worried, and Connor has never outright ignored them. Something is very wrong, and Markus needs to know what. Anything that can help him figure this out. Connor could be in trouble. What Markus does or doesn’t need to know shouldn’t matter when Connor’s well-being is at stake._

_But Markus doesn’t argue. Instead, he continues to stand there, eyes locked on Daniel’s face in something of a desperate, pleading, irritated-yet-concerned expression._

_Daniel sighs and concedes defeat, shaking his head. “He, uh, he got some news yesterday.” He looks up, tired blue eyes locking on Markus’. “I’m sure you know he’s adopted. His first five years of life were spent in a really chaotic household. His mom and dad fought all the time. He’s told me stories of hiding in a closet, waiting for the screaming to stop. He’s never once mentioned a brother, but apparently, all mixed up in that fighting and screaming, he had somehow managed to repress the memory that his mother got pregnant and had his younger brother just two years after he was born.” He scoffs bitterly. “Seems you two have a lot more in common than either of you thought.”_

_Markus frowns. Connor hasn’t talked much about his past, aside from the fact that he was adopted when he was five years old, and the years beyond that with Amanda. He’s definitely never mentioned a brother._

_“Turns out that not only did his parents keep the younger brother, but Amanda made contact with said younger brother and has been keeping in touch with him all this time, ever since Connor stopped talking to her. And when he decided to cut off ties with her, she took it as an opportunity to spend more time with his brother. His name is Richard, and he visits her for every holiday and for both their birthdays. He’s there with her right now.”_

_“…Connor feels replaced,” Markus realizes out loud around a sigh._

_“He probably feels a lot of things.” Daniel shakes his head. “When he finally decided to stop letting his mother pressure him, he had thought he was finally free to think for himself. But he also loves her, so he’s ready to go visit her while she’s sick, and just when he’s about to go do that, he finds out that the brother he never realized he had has stepped in and taken his place.” Daniel shrugs and sits back on the couch. “He feels expendable. He feels lied to. He feels unloved. Connor doesn’t feel like he matters at all right now. Like the statement he tried to make by cutting off ties with Amanda meant jack shit to her. Like she could just get another kid and call it good—just like his parents did.”_

_“…Why didn’t he tell me about all of this?” Markus finally moves to plop down in the armchair, running a hand along the side of his head in frustration._

_“Because you’re the closest person he has who doesn’t have a tainted image of him in their head,” Daniel explains simply. “You don’t know what he looks like at his weakest. He wants to keep it that way.”_

_“What? Why? I’m his boyfriend—”_

_“—you don’t know him as well as you think you do,” Daniel stands up and glares sharply at Markus, “so I’m gonna need you to cut the ‘I’m his boyfriend’ shit right now.”_

_Markus narrows his eyes at Daniel there, but he doesn’t say anything. He just stays put and watches as the blond starts pacing._

_“What you and Connor have is great, okay?” He continues, stealing a glance in Markus’ direction every now and then. “But you’ve still got a lot to learn about him, and he’s not the mental image of godly perfection and selflessness I know you’ve got painted of him in your head. He’s just as human as anyone else, and it’s important you get that through your thick skull right the hell now.”_

_Markus narrows his eyes, and Daniel stops and scowls right back at him._

_“You don’t get to be mad about this!” He suddenly roars. Markus imagines it’s pent-up frustration that his friend has been missing for seven hours now, but he doesn’t say it aloud. “We all see the way you two look at each other! It’s textbook love, and we know it as much as you guys do! But that doesn’t mean you automatically know what’s best for him. Because you’ve seen the headstrong, loving, unpredictable and fun Connor. You’ve seen the wise Connor full to the brim with advice. You’ve seen funny Connor, stoned or drunk and riddled with life and affection. But you’ve never seen the Connor who feels inadequate and unloved, because he’s never wanted you to see that side of him.”_

_“What are you—”_

_“That’s why he’s gone, Markus,” Daniel snarls. “Because he’s so embarrassed that he’s this weak all over again, because you’ve let him generate this ridiculous fucking image of flawlessness about him in your mind. But in reality, he’s just a damned guy, and he’s so afraid that you might be disappointed in him for not being what he tried so hard to be that he decided it’s easier to cut and run.”_

_“How do you know that?” Markus frowns._

_“Because we’re best friends, dipshit.” Daniel rolls his eyes. He almost looks frantic amidst all that anger. “I talked him into dropping out of school and encouraged him to stop letting his mother harass him over the phone. I can’t fucking stand Amanda Stern, but Connor loves her, and now he feels replaced because he stopped talking to her.” Raising both hands to his chest, gesturing to himself, Daniel continues as his voice breaks. “Because I told him to stop talking to her.”_

_“You can’t blame yourself for—”_

_“The fuck I can’t!” Daniel snaps back. “Listen—telling him to drop any contact with her sounds like the best route to take from the outside. I can tell it’s what you’re thinking, too. But none of us should ever have tried to dictate what he does with his relationship with his mother. He knows Amanda and we don’t. And now, he feels like it’s too late.”_

_Markus glares down at his own lap. “…There’s got to be something someone can do to help him.”_

_“Yeah,” Daniel sighs, “there is. But that someone has to be you.”_

_Markus turns his gaze back up to Daniel, who shrugs his shoulders. “Connor’s in love with you, but you have to remember that Connor also loves his mother and myself, and he feels betrayed by both of us. So you have to find him, and you have to get into touch with him, and you have to let him know that it’s okay for him to just be a person around you. No sage advice, no coaching you through your own personal struggles. Connor needs you to help him keep his balance and to remind him that he was right not to live under his mother’s wing all this time. You have to show him that he’s not inadequate just because she makes him feel that way.”_

_Markus doesn’t remember when Daniel drew closer to him, but suddenly, the other man is right in his face, leaning in with his hands on the arms of the chair._

_“You have to let him lean on you this time.”_

_\--- --- --- --- ---_

God, what has Markus done?

All this time, he’s been so worried about his own situation, with his memories and his conflict with Leo and recovering from his father’s death that he hasn’t given Connor a chance to talk about himself. Sure, he’s asked a few questions and they’ve had a good heart-to-heart every now and then, but has Connor ever actually opened up to him about his feelings regarding all this?

Sure, he’s told Markus some things, but has he ever actually _opened up?_ Has Markus ever given him the _chance_ to?

And now, he’s somewhere. It’s been days. Hank is still searching, and Markus and Daniel and their friends are still trying, but Connor is still gone. The only good news they’ve gotten is that his body hasn’t been found. Chloe has confirmed with Elijah that Connor isn’t staying with Amanda, and his name isn’t registered at any of the local hotels.

Where has he gone?

“Markus?” Lucy’s voice is warm and reassuring, but Markus feels as lonely as ever. “Do you need to talk about something?”

Does Markus get to open up to her about this? Is it really his right to do so? He didn’t initially come to her about Connor, so would it honestly do him any good to talk to her about him now? It’s not like she can clue him in on where Connor went. Even if she did know, she’s sworn to confidentiality.

So he changes the subject. Yet again, he tries to get his mind off of the fact that Connor has been missing for half a week.

“My mother drowned, right?”

He glances up to see Lucy frowning at him. “…did you have another dream about it?”

Markus nods. “A little over a week ago. I guess, as a kid, I was afraid of water for a long time. I still don’t know how to swim.”

“Because you thought the water took your mother away.” Lucy smiles almost sadly, and moves to take a seat in a chair next to Markus. “Would you like to tell me the information that’s in that chart?”

Markus shakes his head. “Could you…could you just print another copy of it for me? I’ll read it myself, right here.”

“You don’t have to, Markus.” Lucy reaches out and gives his knee a squeeze. “There’s no need to rush.”

“With all due respect, all I want to do is rush right now,” Markus replies, perhaps a little too curtly. “If figuring out my own past will help keep me on my feet right now, I’d love to rush. Just…please, print it out.”

Maybe he’s been stringing Connor along over this chart. Not too long ago, he had told Connor that he was willing to read the contents of it. A lot had happened since then, but he really had felt ready. But if he can’t confront his own demons, how’s he supposed to help Connor through his?

Lucy sighs and stands up, making her way to her desk. “You haven’t been sleeping well. You’re tense.”

Markus shrugs. “I’ve just been busy these past few days.” And he has. Between school and trying to figure out where Connor went, he hasn’t really had time for sleep. Now that his semester is over, he’ll revisit all the spots Connor showed him on that first night, and then he’ll go home and wonder what piece he’s missing. Every day that Connor doesn’t pop up on his phone or at one of those spots, he feels like he’s drifting further away.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t think talking’s going to help.” Markus sighs.

“You know, listening is a big part of my job as your therapist,” Lucy says around a soft laugh. The printer hums to life there, and she picks up the papers that come out, striding over and passing them to Markus. “I won’t pressure you, but maybe it’d help to get whatever’s on your mind off your chest. I can’t say anything about it outside of our appointments, so it’d be completely confidential.”

Markus doesn’t say anything. He just takes the chart and turns to the second page.

“…My mother’s name was Christine,” He realizes aloud, scanning over the words. “My father was Alan.” He looks up from the papers. “My middle name’s Alan. I was named after my father…”

“You were,” Lucy responds with a nod, as Markus turns his attention back to the papers in his hands. Beyond all the names and birth dates and death dates, the chart is more a compilation of notes than anything. Paragraphs upon paragraphs of observations probably passed down from the mouths of foster parents and…no, wait.

“My biological dad saw you too?”

“Not me, no.” Lucy shakes her head. “A therapist from the same practice. You were one of my first, but your father spoke on your behalf after your mother passed away. He wanted it to be included in your chart, provided you had to see someone after what happened.”

And Markus sees why. The paragraph is pretty straightforward:

 

_Per Alan: “My son lost his mother on that day. He doesn’t know it yet, but I’ve got end stage pancreatic cancer, and I haven’t got much more time. Soon, I’m going to be gone and he’s going to be living with a whole new family. He’s afraid of water. He has been, ever since Christine passed away. But he loves fish. He loves fish and the ocean and he is going to miss our big aquarium when he has to leave. It was something he and I had in common. We both loved fish, which was why Christine decided that our vacation was going to include lots of both. I still don’t know why God chose to take her away from us, when she could have cared for Markus in my absence, but I pray my son finds a father with all the same love in his heart as I had in mine. Markus, if you ever see this, know that I love you with all of my heart, and I am wishing you the best. You have to be strong, for both Mama and I.”_

Markus lowers the chart to his lap. He almost expects another memory to flood his vision there, but nothing happens. He’s just left sitting there, his mind reviewing the words he’s just read.

“My mother took us to the ocean, because she knew my father loved it,” he muses aloud. “She wanted to give him something memorable before he died.”

Lucy nods as she returns to her desk. “How does that make you feel?”

Markus just shrugs. “I don’t know. I feel like I should be more upset about it, but Carl has been the only dad I’ve ever truly known. I know my birth parents from little bits and pieces of my memory, but losing Carl was harder for me. Does…Does that make me a bad person?”

“It makes you a person with trauma-induced amnesia,” Lucy answers easily enough, a soft smile on her lips. “PTSD does strange things to a person, and especially a young one. The six-year-old Markus who had lived out these memories misses his parents very much, but in order to avoid the long-term effects of the trauma, that same Markus closed them off and tucked them away. Essentially, he remade himself so that he could survive the years to come. Your parents were very important to you, but your instinct was to forget them so that you wouldn’t be miserable later on in life.”

“That doesn’t feel right,” Markus admits, shaking his head. “When I dream about them, I feel everything. I was choking on water the last time I dreamed about my mother. I was probably crying. If I can remember that much, why doesn’t it upset me what I’m reading now?”

“It may very well do so in the future,” Lucy responds, turning in her chair to face Markus across the desk. “But you don’t need to be in a hurry to be sad. Enjoy what you’ve got and let the time come back to you at its own pace. It’s possible you’re not grieving over it right now because you’re _already_ grieving. Your mind can only handle so much.”

“I’ve had months to grieve over Dad,” Markus tries, and Lucy shakes her head.

“You’ve had months of trying to shut his memory away. You hallucinate weather patterns and have dreams about him because your instinct may very well be trying to kick in. You don’t like being sad. Nobody does, but you’re particularly distasteful about it.”

Markus frowns. “How am I supposed to help Connor if I can’t even help myself?”

“…Pardon?” Lucy frowns this time.

Markus can’t keep the words to himself this time. “Connor, yeah. He went missing a few days back.”

\--- --- --- --- ---

_“Connor…come on, you’re supposed to be resting.”_

_They’ve been home from camping for all of six hours, and Connor is as restless as if he weren’t the least bit sick. He thinks he’s gotten all the sleep he cares to have, and now, he’s trying to crawl into Markus’ lap as he reviews his assignments for school._

_“I did, already. For like six hours.” Connor still sounds as stopped up as ever, his voice a little gravelly from sleep and illness._

_“You’re still running a fever,” Markus responds as Connor curls his arms around his neck. “You’re due for more Tylenol.”_

_“You’re supposed to be my boyfriend, not my doctor,” Connor tries, rolling his eyes, and Markus notices how they almost seem to roll back into his skull when he does it. “You’re studying art, not medicine. I promise, I’m fine.”_

_“I’m not making out with you,” Markus teases, covering Connor’s mouth and pushing him back a little. “As much as I love the thought of your tongue in my mouth, I also can’t afford to get sick before finals.”_

_“Oh, please,” Connor scoffs, but it dies off into a series of coughs. When he recovers, he shoots Markus a deadpan stare. “If you haven’t already caught it, I’ll be surprised. We sleep like two inches apart.”_

_Markus laughs. “Go rest, Con.”_

_Connor outright glares at him, but shifts down his lap regardless. Markus thinks he’s gotten the point across and resumes his studies, when he suddenly feels the button to his pants pop open. He looks down to see Connor grinning up at him._

_“Absolutely not! Goddamn it, Connor!” Markus knows he’s visibly flustered as he returns the button on his pants to its rightful place—sealed tightly shut, away from any perverted little boyfriends who want to sneak in a fevered blowjob. “Go sleep, already.”_

_“You’re going to turn down my mouth on you?” Connor wrinkles his nose. “You’re the worst, Markus…”_

_Markus sighs down at him, before he turns his attention back to his book. “Look, Connor, I’m sorry. I just want you to get some sleep. If you’re not feverish the next time you wake up, I’ll let you do all you want to me, okay?”_

_Connor doesn’t answer, but Markus can still feel the weight of his head in his lap. He sighs once more and turns another page in his book. “You’ll thank me when you realize you don’t feel like you got hit by a freight train anymore.”_

_When Connor still doesn’t respond, Markus glances down at him. “You’re seriously going to ignore me right now? Really, I thought you were—”_

_He freezes, gaping down at the sight before him. Connor is fast asleep, his arms folded over Markus’ thighs, his head resting on them. He almost can’t believe what just happened. Was Connor’s moment just now some sickness-induced delirium, or was he just touch-starved enough that he’d tried despite his illness to get his hands on Markus for a while?_

_Markus just smiles at him and reaches a hand down to trace his fingers through that wispy hair. Connor clearly doesn’t handle illness very well…_

_He doesn’t have the heart to try and move Connor back to bed. Despite not being laid out flat on a mattress, he looks so comfortable._

_Strangely, that presence also makes it easier for Markus to study. He’s content running his hand through Connor’s hair while he uses the other to turn the pages in his book._

_\--- --- --- --- ---_

“I let myself get so wrapped up in the fact that Connor was like a healer to me,” Markus confesses, among the many other things he has confessed to Lucy about his relationship with Connor. “He was always so wise and full of advice, and I didn’t realize I was doing it, but I guess I sort of took advantage of that. It was so easy to lean on him, you know?”

Lucy frowns across the table. “That’s pretty human, though. If the comfort is there, you should take it.”

“But he was suffering,” Markus retorts, shaking his head. “He’s been suffering silently all this time, and I didn’t even think to ask him if he was okay. He confided in me about his mother, and about Hank, and I was still so concerned about my own problems that I didn’t even think to offer him help.”

“I think you’re being a little dramatic,” Lucy corrects, her expression level. “You didn’t realize how much he was suffering. I’m not about to make excuses for you, since I don’t know the full extent of your situation, but what good are you doing sitting here and blaming yourself? If you want to make a difference, you need to get out there and tell these things to him. That’s the only way you’re going to know how he really feels about all of this.”

“I have,” Markus replies curtly. “Daniel and my friends and I have all been searching for him. We’ve tried all the connections we know of, only to come up empty. Trust me, the only thing I want to do right now is find him and tell him how important he is to me, and that I’m here for him, and that god, what I want to do to give him a reason never to run away again…”

Lucy sighs. “The way you talk, you don’t think he’s in danger.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t. He’s just avoiding us. Daniel thinks he’s keeping his distance because he feels betrayed by him.”

When Lucy cocks her head in confusion, Markus continues. “This Daniel seems to believe he’s the driving factor between Connor distancing himself from his mother in the first place.”

The look on her face tells him there’s a lot she doesn’t know about Connor’s current situation, so he stops there. “…I don’t think it’s right for me to tell you any more. Maybe one day, he’ll come looking for you and tell you himself, but this is probably exactly why he’s not speaking to us right now.”

Lucy sighs. “I don’t know, Markus. You definitely don’t have to tell me anymore, but I believe you’re being a little too hard on yourself. What you need to do is give him his space. Keep looking for him, and keep letting him know you’re there for him, but give him the chance to tell you how he feels. In the meantime, you’ve still got your own issues to handle. You can’t let your concerns for him get into the way of that. You’re still healing, too.”

Markus knows she’s right, but goddamn if he doesn’t hate hearing it. He just wants Connor back, now. He wants to scream for her to give him the answers, and that his memories of his parents or his depression over his father can wait, but in all honesty, putting your love for someone before your own mental health is the stuff of cheesy novels and bedtime stories. It’s not actually what happens in real life. Maybe that realization is a part of growing up, and for a romantic like Markus, he’s got to learn to accept it before it does more harm than good.

So, he slumps his shoulders and glances down at his lap. “I’ll keep looking over the chart. Thank you for listening to me.”

Lucy frowns, but she seems to understand. She nods politely at him. “Of course, Markus. Just remember, I’m here, okay?”

Markus nods and stands up. “Thank you, Lucy.”

\--- --- --- --- ---

_Markus learns he’s made the right call in insisting Connor get rest the very next morning, when he finds him doubled over the bathtub, weak with exhaustion. Markus hasn’t been able to keep his fever under control, and he’s seriously contemplating carting his boyfriend off to the hospital with how shitty his recovery process is shaping up to be._

_“Jesus, Connor!” Markus drops down and hooks his arms underneath Connor’s armpits, hefting him up onto the toilet. Connor’s cheeks are flushed bright red, and he’s naked. The water all over the floor and shower indicates he’d been trying to wash up. He’s weak in Markus’ hold, but he is able to get out a response, which is at least somewhat reassuring._

_“I felt gross,” Connor answers breathily. “I needed a shower.”_

_“You tried to shower knowing you could barely stand up?” Markus sighs heavily. “You should’ve asked me for help.”_

_“I’m an adult—”_

_“—You can take care of yourself,” Markus grunts, “I’ve heard that before. And that’s fine and dandy, except I’m here to help you. Not that it matters right now—I’m calling a doctor.”_

_“You don’t need to do that,” Connor is regaining strength by the second. He bats Markus’ hands away. “I think I just let the water get too hot. I was trying to steam up the room to clear my sinuses.”_

_“Connor…” Markus frowns and shakes his head. “I dunno…”_

_“Let me prove it to you,” Connor shoves him away and pushes himself to his feet. Markus watches him reach out for the sink for balance, but he does a pretty decent job of staying on his feet. He crouches to grab his towel and ambles a little weakly out of the bathroom. “You go from hot to cold really fast and your blood pressure can drop pretty suddenly.” He coughs following those words and gets to work drying off. “I’m sorry I worried you, but I’m fine.”_

_He’s a little awkward putting on pants and a shirt, but Markus is relieved to see him go straight for the bed. “If I’m not better by tomorrow, I’ll let you take me to the doctor, okay?”_

_Markus frowns deeply, but he makes no effort to argue this time. Instead, he tucks his hands into his pockets and stares down at his boyfriend from next to the bed. “I’m going to get you some Gatorade.”_

_“Not Powerade?” Connor wonders aloud. “You guys drink the hell out of Powerade.”_

_“Powerade’s for regular drinking,” Markus answers easily. “Gatorade’s for when you’re sick.”_

_Connor laughs raspily, though the laughter dies off into a series of coughs. “They’re the same thing!”_

_“They’re absolutely not the same thing,” Markus retorts. “I’m getting you Gatorade. Or maybe soup.”_

_Connor waves a hand dismissively. “Just Gatorade. And then come back to bed. I’ve got a master plan, see?” When Markus cocks an eyebrow at him, he continues easily enough. “It’s simple: you get sick and I get to keep you around more because you can’t be in school, so you get to stay at home with me, in bed.”_

_“When did you get so greedy for my attention?” Markus scoffs softly._

_“Please,” Connor scoffs back, “I’ve always been greedy for your attention.”_

_\--- --- --- --- ---_

For the first time since Markus started hallucinating, he finds himself wishing he would see something just once. A fish, a water-soaked younger version of himself, an odd weather pattern…anything. Everything feels too mundane right now. Too normal. Too lonely.

He can’t sleep without Connor in his bed. Sometimes, he can convince himself that it’s because he’s grown so accustomed to that warm body pressed up against his own, but for the most part, he knows that it’s because he doesn’t know where Connor is right now. Every now and then, he can convince himself that he’s fine and close his eyes, but if he sleeps at all, he quickly wakes to the realization that Connor is missing. Thinks he should go check out by that freighter again. Or see if Connor finally got stuck in hamburger jail. Or maybe he’s back at the bar.

Or maybe he’s gone and skipped town. But Elijah says he’s not with Amanda, so where else could he be? Daniel is still frantically worried about him, too, so Markus knows he’s not with him.

No, Markus doesn’t think he’s dead. He doesn’t know why he’s so sure of that fact, but he knows for sure that he’s right. Connor is somewhere, alive, but he’s choosing to stay away. Connor has so rapidly eliminated himself from everyone’s life that nobody knows what to do.

Tonight is a particularly difficult night. It’s raining outside, and Markus doesn’t care for rain. He’s not hallucinating, either. He knows that for a fact, because it makes him extremely uncomfortable. He’s alone in it, and his fears run wild. Childhood fears that would often throw him into frightening visions of himself vomiting water from a ceiling or staring in fright at him from his bedroom doorway. There’s no drowning fish, no memories of his parents. Just Markus Manfred, lying awake in his bed, trying feverishly to relax to the cadence of the rainwater pounding against the glass of his window.

He reclaims his phone from beside his bed and unlocks it. Pulls up his messages with Connor. Frowns when he sees only repeated texts from himself, checking in on Connor. Sometimes, sending him a text makes Markus feel better. He’s long-since stopped begging for Connor to come back and has simply resorted to checking in with him. Letting him know how things are going. Tonight is no different:

_[Markus]_

_11:32 PM_

_I visited Lucy again today. Learned some more about my parents. Get this: my father and I both loved the ocean and fish. Isn’t it kind of ironic now? In any case, I thought I’d let you know. Miss you, hope you’re doing okay._

He locks his phone again and sets it aside. Folds his hands behind his head. Closes his eyes.

His mind instantly wakes up.

He needs to go out searching again. Just one more time, he needs to check and make sure Connor’s not at the dance studio. He forgot to check there today, after all.

One glance at the rain pouring down his window, however, tells him that it’s not happening. So instead, Markus sits upright and crawls out of bed. He shuffles into the kitchen and opens the fridge. Earlier today, the refrigerator was mostly empty, but it looks like one of his roommates has refilled the supply. Powerade bottles line an entire shelf, as well as some odds and ends—milk and butter, Lunchables…

In the back, Markus spots that bottle of southern comfort North had picked up for him all that time ago. He stares at it for a few seconds, before his sheer exhaustion draws him down a spiral of ‘fuck it’ and he snags it by the neck, picking it up and heading for the couch.

Lightning flickers as he unscrews the cap, and he jumps with the thunder that follows. The lid thuds onto the carpet and rolls away. He glares at the open neck of the bottle and then throws his head back and takes a big gulp of the drink.

He just needs enough to take the edge off. Enough to help him sleep. He’s going on a few hours in the past three days, and he can’t function normally like this.

When a couple of drinks turns into the entire remainder of the bottle is beyond him, but when dizziness and inebriation sink in, it’s far too easy to lie down on the couch and let sleep take over.

Finally.

\--- --- --- --- ---

_When Markus wakes up the next morning, Connor isn’t in bed with him. Considering his boyfriend has been relatively sick for the past two days, this is a little concerning. That in mind, Markus quickly wipes the sleep out of his system and urges himself out of bed. Connor isn’t in the bathroom, as the door is wide open and the light’s off. The bedroom door is open, however, so Markus follows the lead and heads out._

_He finds Connor poring through the fridge, an open bottle of blue Powerade in hand. There’s some amusement in the fact that his boyfriend has officially reached the level of comfortable with the household that he’s not opposed to raiding the fridge, but Markus quickly overpowers that thought with concern over the fact that his currently-ill boyfriend is up digging around._

_“How’re you feeling?” He questions, leaning against the counter in the kitchen._

_Connor pulls back and sniffles a little, flashing his boyfriend a smile. “A lot better, actually. Maybe your little Gatorade trick really does work. I mean, I’m still not at a hundred percent, but I also don’t feel like I’m running a fever today.”_

_Markus approaches and reaches a hand out, cupping the side of his boyfriend’s neck in his hand. It’s true; Connor doesn’t feel feverish at all. His nose is still red from rampant tissue use and his eyes still look a little dark around the edges, but the worst part seems to have passed. That in mind, he smiles. “You definitely look a lot better today.”_

_“You know,” Connor closes the fridge and leans against the now-shut door, taking a swig of Powerade, “I knew I always pegged you for the doting caregiver type, but you seemed awfully worried these past couple of days.”_

_“Not necessarily,” Markus replies around a shrug. “Yeah, I felt bad for you and I was a little concerned about how long it was going to take you to start getting better, and you did scare the hell out of me when you collapsed in the bathroom, but I felt bad for you more than anything else. It’s my fault you got sick, anyway.”_

_Connor wrinkles his nose. “How is my cold at all your fault?”_

_Markus raises an eyebrow at him. “Connor…You were soaked to the bone that night. It was pouring and we were both cold, and you don’t handle cold half as well as I do, so—”_

_“You didn’t make me step outside,” Connor clarifies bluntly. “I was worried about you, but I’m fully autonomous. I made the choice to stay out there, even when you asked me to go back inside. Besides, what’s the point of feeling guilty after the fact? It happened, and now it’s over. And I’m starting to get better, and I also don’t regret my decision.”_

_Markus sighs. “You’re right. But still, I’d have taken care of you either way.”_

_Connor just smiles. “I know you would have.” He then cocks his head and his grin spreads impishly. “But…if you still want to make it up to me, you can cook me some breakfast and we can go for round sixty-one of your favorite movie…”_

_Come to think of it, Markus is pretty hungry, himself. That in mind, he raises a hand and waves Connor off to the living room. “Go set up Netflix and decide how you want your eggs. We’re gonna have to eat quickly, lest the guys get home and make me cook for them, too.”_

_\--- --- --- --- ---_

“Jesus, Markus…”

Markus can feel the palm of a hand smacking the side of his face, but his skin is almost numb to the contact. The sound it makes, however, is dizzyingly loud and obnoxious, and he raises his own hand to bat it away.

“I swear to god, dude, if you don’t open your eyes, I’m gonna splash you with water.”

When Markus finally does concede (because he definitely doesn’t feel like wearing cold water), he opens his eyes to see his entire household hovering over him. North is sitting on the couch cushion next to him, clutching the empty bottle he’d upended down his throat last night, and Simon is at the other end of the couch, hands resting on his legs as he watches with anticipation. Josh is perched on his feet next to the couch, a glass of water in his hand. He looks ready to come unglued.

“Relax,” Markus grunts almost irritably, shielding his eyes with the back of his hand. “I’m awake, now.” He feels downright sick. His head is pounding, and the alcohol he’d drank last night still feels heavy in his stomach. He wonders what time it is, and thinks that maybe, he might still be a little wasted.

Josh’s glare doesn’t recede. Markus can’t wrap his head around what could be wrong. “Stop looking at me like that,” he requests, but nobody obeys.

“Markus,” Simon is frowning deeply as he speaks. “We’ve been trying to wake you up for a few minutes, now. You’ve been passed out—we were starting to worry.”

“You’re not a big drinker,” North reminds him softly. Perhaps the most startling thing about this situation to Markus is that North, normally the first to grow upset over things, is the calm one. Her expression is wracked with concern. “And I know there was still a pretty decent amount of booze left in that bottle. Why’d you drink so much last night?”

They all know why. Markus hasn’t been sleeping well. His father is dead, his history is still a giant question mark, and now, his boyfriend has gone missing. He’s passed his finals, but with all the unknown still looming in his future, Markus is overwhelmed. That in mind, he shrugs.

“I couldn’t sleep. I needed something to help get me there.”

“So take a damned Benadryl,” Josh retorts quickly. “Unless you’d prefer to launch yourself in the hospital and get your stomach pumped. Or, y’know, die.”

“Okay, Josh,” Simon raises a hand out to him to try and silence him.

“What the hell’s your deal?” Markus, grumpy from the obvious hangover in his system, instead snaps. “I’m fine. I’m sorry if I scared you, but I’m _fine._ ” His head throbs violently there, but he suppresses the urge to react visibly.

Josh looks like he wants to keep arguing, but he doesn’t. “Look, it’s just one time, so I won’t keep making a big deal about it, but I’m just going to make one thing clear: you don’t get to self-destruct while he’s still out there, god knows where. Because if we do find him, it’s gonna be _you_ he goes to, and if you’re too fucked up to be there for him, I’ll never forgive you.”

“Excuse me?” Markus frowns, but Josh leaves it at that. He just passes by and heads back to his own room, leaving Simon and North in the living room with Markus.

“He’s got a right to feel like that, you know,” Simon adds from his spot on the couch. “He’s just worried. You stopped painting when you lost your dad. You hallucinate. Your therapist said herself that you don’t handle loss well. Connor is a big reason you started getting back on your feet in the first place. We’ve all been scared to see what’s going to happen if he never comes back.”

Markus sighs and flops back onto the couch. He shakes his head. “It was one night, guys. I just needed some sleep. Besides, Connor’s _fine_.”

“Markus…” North tries, but Markus raises a hand into the air.

“Gimme a minute. I’ll go rest in my room.”

\--- --- --- --- ---

“You remember what he looks like, right?”

“Yeah, he’s kinda hard to forget…” Leo sighs and shakes his head. “But that doesn’t mean I’m gonna find him.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Markus agrees. “But it puts an extra set of eyes out there. He’s been gone four days, now.”

Markus has decided, after attempting yet another search of all the locations he and Connor have visited together (the burger shop he’d taken them to on their first date included), to head back to his father’s house. Leo has met him there, initially under the impression that they were going to discuss assets again, but Markus can’t seem to clear his mind enough to focus. The headache still wracking his system isn’t helping, either…

“I mean, I’ll keep looking. I’ll tell Gavin, too.”

“That’s a good idea, actually.” Markus lights up a bit at those words. “Gavin works at the same place as him, after all. Hell, maybe Connor has been working all this time, so he’ll see him. Thanks, Leo.”

Leo just shrugs. “You’re in knots about this shit, and I’m trying to do the big brother thing right this time around, you know?”

Those words are more reassuring than Markus can possibly try and explain. Normally, he’d be calling Leo left and right and getting no answer. This time, his brother is standing right here, trying to be reassuring. Despite their bitter sibling rivalry and the twisted chutes and ladders game of jealousy and betrayal and subtle competition, they’re starting to behave like they might actually get along.

Markus isn’t sure if he believes in a god or anything like that, but if his father is really out there somewhere, in Heaven or what-the-hell-ever, he has to be looking down at Markus and Leo with pride. Losing him may not have actually been the last straw for the brothers. It might have been what brought them together for the first time since Leo had come into their lives.

“When’s the last time you went out to see Dad?” Leo suddenly asks, and when Markus glances over at him, he can see nervousness in his brother’s expression. Their eyes meet, and Leo continues. “I just thought maybe we could go see him together. I bet he would like that.”  
  
Markus finds that, in a time when his entire life feels like it’s standing on its head again, Leo is the single biggest source of comfort he’s had in a long time. Even his friends don’t know how to go about consoling him right now, and because he can’t get his mind out of where it’s presently stuck, even Lucy can’t help. But to see his big brother finally extending a hand out to him…god, it’s just what he needs.

So, of course he nods in agreement. “God yes, please.”

It’s not all perfect chemistry and easy conversation with them, understandably. As Leo climbs into the passenger’s seat of Markus’ car, he comments on how comfortable it is and how his dad picked a good car out for him, and when Markus tells him that Carl let him choose the vehicle, he grows silent again. Markus can tell that irritates him a little—makes him feel jealous—but he can also tell Leo is trying his damnedest not to go into a rage about it.

Markus respects that, which is why he doesn’t talk about it any further. In situations like this, it’s always easier to just be quiet and let the issue be confronted another day. Markus is far too stressed to be reasonable right now. He’d almost gone off on Josh earlier, and if he goes off on Leo, it won’t be pretty. He’s not ready to return to square one with his brother just yet.

The rest of the ride to the cemetery is silent, but once they’re out of the vehicle, it’s a little easier. They both suck in the fresh air and trudge their way inside and to their father’s headstone. The ground is still soggy from all the rain, but Carl’s headstone stands out like a beacon amidst all of it, shining in all its onyx-colored glory. Markus stops in front of it and stuffs his hands into his pockets, smiling.

He realizes he doesn’t know what to say, and also that he wants to say too much at once. He wants to tell his father about how he passed his finals, and how he’s seeing a therapist about everything that’s happened. How it’d been going so well up until then, but he also realizes that if he does that, he’s going to start waxing emotional about Connor, and he’s going to lose his damned mind opening up about everything that’s happened as of late.

And his father is dead, so it’s not like he can tell Markus where Connor is.

So instead, he watches as Leo crouches down and talks to him instead. Leo mutters something about Gavin, and Markus swears he hears affection in those words—the same kind of affection he’d spoken with Connor about the time he and Connor had come out here to visit. This thought brings a smile to his lips. He can only imagine the chemistry between people like Leo and Gavin.

Leo, now that Markus has the chance to observe him without being on the constant defensive, is such a quirky man. He’s a little awkward in his movements, and Markus realizes that part of the reason he’d toppled from that balcony is likely because he’s a little on the clumsy side. He doesn’t hesitate to drop down and cross his legs to sit in front of his father’s headstone, even despite the fact that the ground is muddy. Markus should probably be a little upset about that, since it means his ass is going to be dirty when he puts it back into the seat of his car, but instead, he’s a little enamored with the sight. This is a rare moment he gets to see of his brother. He’s not about to tarnish it by getting upset about upholstery.

“…And you should see the way Markus and this Connor guy look at each other,” Markus catches Leo musing. His brow furrows as he contemplates cutting him off. “You know he’s always wrapped up in painting or playing or studying—his personal time has always been spent with his friends. But he and Connor are attached at the hip. Or, well, were. But they’re getting there, I think. Markus isn’t talking to you right now because he’s scared outta his mind about all that’s going on, but I think it’s all gonna work out. See, the guy looks at Markus the same way Markus looks at him. He’s stupid crazy about my baby brother, and I’m kinda proud about it, y’know? I think he’s earned it. So I don’t think he’s gone away forever.”

Markus glances back and forth between Leo and the headstone, his brow furrowed. He doesn’t have the heart to interrupt what’s being said, so Leo keeps talking.

“But I think he could use a lot of support, Dad. I dunno if you’re actually able to hear anything that I’m saying, or if you’re seeing what’s going on, but…if you gotta…ghostly hand or a _presence_ or some other supernatural power move, I think now would be the time to use it. To, you know, reach out and tell Markus that everything’s gonna be okay…”

Markus looks away. He suddenly feels like crying.

\--- --- --- --- ---

_“This is stupid!” Markus is laughing—actually laughing, these big, amused belly laughs that he can’t hold back, as he and Connor lay sprawled out on the sidewalk outside of the apartment complex’s pool. The ground is cold, but it’s late enough in the afternoon that the air around them isn’t cold at all. Markus is laid out in front of the gate to the pool, his feet pointed toward it, and Connor is faced the opposite way, his head lying alongside Markus’, but his feet pointed the other direction. He’s laughing, too. “I don’t know if you think being around it is going to make me any less willing to swim in it, but—”_

_“—no, it’s not that,” Connor replies breathily. He’s still a little sick, but his coughing has almost entirely stopped and he’s only a little sniffly. “It’s just, I needed some fresh air.”_

_“You’re still getting better,” Markus points out. “We shouldn’t be out here.”_

_“You’re just being a buzzkill.” Connor has his hands folded over his stomach as he stares up through the trees lining the courtyard. Markus glances over to see something like wonder in his eyes. “Trust me, I need this more than I need my sniffling to stop.”_

_“You’re dramatic.” Markus rolls his eyes and turns his own gaze up to the sky. He inhales slowly and lets out a sigh, before he decides to change the subject. “So…is there anything I should be expecting in meeting your mother?”_

_Connor hesitates, and Markus almost regrets asking the question, but soon enough, he responds. “I don’t think so, no. To be honest, I don’t think she’ll have any trouble falling in love with you. You have that effect on a lot of people.”_

_Markus glances over at him and scoffs softly. “Yeah? Does that include you?”_

_Connor doesn’t reply. Instead, he just smiles back at Markus, bringing one hand up to trace it along the side of his face. He turns onto his side and gazes over at Markus. Markus watches those brown eyes trace his own features, before he scoots in closer._

_“I’m not sure how to talk to her. It’s been so long.” Connor’s fingers are smooth along the side of Markus’ face, and he finds himself turning over to face Connor more fully too. “She’s letting me come out, sure, but I don’t know what kind of attitude I’m going to be facing. She’s probably pretty disappointed.”_

_Markus props his arm up underneath his head like a pillow. He raises a hand up to cover the one touching his face. “I’ll be right there, okay? I don’t know what’s going to happen either, but you’re there to make sure she’s doing okay and that she knows you care about her, yeah? If that turns out to be more complicated than you think, I’ll be right there by your side.”_

_Connor glances down at the ground between them, before he turns his gaze back up to Markus. “See? This is what I’m talking about. You’re just too compelling for your own good…” He leans in and captures Markus’ lips in a kiss._

_When he pulls back, he’s smiling almost sadly. “It’ll be okay?”_

_Markus just nods and kisses him again. “It’ll be okay.”_

_\--- --- --- --- ---_

Markus and Leo have been at Carl’s grave for hours, now. Markus has been sitting on the bench a short distance away for a while, but now that he’s had some time to think, he moves to join Leo in front of Carl’s headstone. Leo has fallen silent, just staring at the grave before him, but when Markus drops down next to him, he turns his gaze up and away from it.

He doesn’t say anything right away, but when he does, Markus notices his voice is soft. “I miss him, you know?”

Markus nods, and Leo keeps speaking. “A lot. I know I made a point to extricate myself from both of your lives, but Dad opened his doors to me. He knew I was on drugs long before you did, and he still kept me around. I was pathetic and rude and even worse to him on Molly and Coke than I was before, and even then, he kept trying.” Leo shrugs his shoulders. “I was stupid to think that it was anything other than love.”

His shoulders slump there, and Markus can’t stop himself from reaching out to place a hand on his brother’s shoulder. Leo steals a glance at Markus, but turns his gaze down to the ground to keep speaking.

“Is it fair to think I can start making it up to him now?”

Markus just shrugs. “I think so. I mean, the fact that you’re working on it at all would make Dad feel good.” He drops his hand and rests both of them in his lap. “I might have thought you were a terrible person for a while, but if there’s anyone who knew better from the beginning, it was probably Dad. Addiction is a disease, and it took me a long time to realize that you’re still a person behind that, but Dad probably understood from the get-go. A guy with a troubled past, who got in a bad way for a while…he probably always knew that at some point, you’d get clean. Dad loved you with all his heart, Leo.”

Leo nods, slowly at first, but then more firmly. Resolutely. “Yeah…Yeah, you’re right.”

They both fall silent there, before Markus decides to break the ice with a subject change.

“So, uh…you and your roommate,” he starts, a playful smile on his lips. “That a thing?”

Leo glances over briefly, and then bursts out laughing. “It’s not a _thing_ , no. Gavin’s a busy guy, and I’ve got commitment issues, obviously, so it’s not gonna be anything more than messing around when we’re both in the mood for it. But shit…the stuff is pretty good when we _do_ get to do it.” He laughs again, and then runs a hand over the front of his face. “This is so weird, talking about it in front of my dad.”

Markus mirrors his laugh. “Yeah, sorry about that, Dad.”

He’s about to change the subject yet again, when the crunching of muddy earth nearby draws his attention away. He glances up, and his stomach just about flies right out of his throat.

“Oh my god—” Markus chokes out as he leaps to his feet and bounds toward the other person. “Connor, where have you…”

What the hell?

The man standing before him _looks_ like Connor, but he’s not. He has the same wispy hair and sparsely-freckled face, but he’s…different. His hair is maybe a shade lighter in color, and his eyes are an icy blue-gray color that compliments his sharper jawline perfectly. His shoulders are broader, and he’s perhaps a couple of inches taller than Connor. Markus freezes on the spot.

“…Richard, actually,” the man clarifies, tilting his head to the side in confusion. He sports a long white jacket in almost mid-May, which makes Markus’ heart ache for reasons he doesn’t want to delve into. His hands are tucked into his pockets. “You know Connor?”

\--- --- --- --- ---

_Connor is procrastinating. Both he and Markus know that’s what he’s doing. He has to get to work, but neither of them want him to leave._

_But Markus supposes he shouldn’t complain, because he’s in the middle of getting some pretty good action out of it. Connor is in nothing but one of Markus' long-sleeved shirts, rocking hard in his lap with Markus buried deep inside of him._

_It started out with Markus trying to shove him out of bed so they could both get ready for school and work, and Connor was just too persistent for his own good. He had shoved Markus up against the headboard and put his mouth on his throat, and Markus had been done for._

_In Connor’s defense, they haven’t had sex since he got sick. And now that he’s better, he’s insatiable. He’s got his face buried in the crook of Markus’ neck as he moves, and Markus is gripping onto his shirt for dear life as he goes along for the ride, panting heavily as the pleasure mounts._

_“I r…really do need to get to work,” Connor moans as he moves. “This is all your fault for making me sick.”_

_Markus just laughs. “What ever happened to that being your choice?”_

_“I missed three days of work,” Connor somehow manages, though his words die off into a whimper as he bears down all the way and they both feel their legs meet. “It's definitely all your fault.”_

_Markus groans pleasantly when Connor rolls his hips forward and generates a spark of particularly intense friction. “I’ll take the blame, then.”_

_“You’re too easy,” Connor teases, before he cuts them both silent in the form of a heated kiss. They’re both close at this point, so they ride out their climax amidst a sea of open-mouthed kissing and shameless moaning against one another’s lips. Markus finishes with his hands slid way up Connor’s shirt, and Connor comes with his hands on Markus’ shoulders, his nails digging into the skin there and leaving little crescent-shaped indents in their wake._

_They’re both shaking by the time they come down from their high, and when Connor pulls off of Markus, he’s still out of breath._

_“We can’t shower together this time,” he explains apologetically, and Markus watches him glance down at the mess his release has made of Markus' chest and stomach, peppering the black tank top he’s wearing. “I’ll never get to work on time if we do. I’ll try not to take all the hot water!”_

_Markus doesn’t worry too much about it. Instead, he just steals a shower from the hallway bathroom. He gets out just in time for Connor to be heading briskly out of the bedroom. He’s still not ready for him to leave, and Connor’s earlier lapse in self-control is starting to wear off on him._

_“You can be a few minutes late,” Markus tells him as he stretches an arm out in the bedroom doorway and curls it around Connor’s waist. “You were prepared to when I told you to get up earlier.”_

_Connor stiffens visibly, before he lets out a frustrated groan and twists right into that arm. “You’re a bad influence.” He leans up and steals a languid, hungry kiss from his boyfriend’s lips._

_Markus just shrugs and pulls Connor against him. He’s still just wrapped up in a towel._

_“Do you want me to pick you up after you get off?”_

_Connor groans again, placing a hand on Markus’ chest. “I do, but you shouldn’t. You’ve got class today and tomorrow, and Daniel is going to have a conniption fit if I don’t give him some more attention. I’ll stay tomorrow night, okay?”_

_Markus kisses him. “Sounds good, Con. Now…”_

_He urges Connor against the hallway wall, nipping playfully at his boyfriend’s lower lip, which elicits a low moan from somewhere at the base of Connor’s throat._

_“You’re a dirty cheater,” Connor scolds into the kiss. “You can’t be half-naked while I’m late for work…”_

_“You’re not late,” Markus reminds. I’ll give you a ride.”_

_“You have class…” Connor moans when Markus presses their bodies together._

_“I’ll be fine. It’s finals week, we aren’t learning anything new.”_

_Connor’s surrender comes in the form more frustrated moaning as he throws his arms around Markus' shoulders and tugs him back into the bedroom._

_\--- --- --- --- ---_

“Blue Powerade?” Richard eyes the bottle, but when Markus shrugs, he doesn’t turn it away. He unscrews the cap and takes a seat on the couch. Markus and Leo have decided to bring him back to Markus' apartment so they can talk about the situation in more depth. Richard looks only mildly uncomfortable, but he also looks resolute. Like he knows he needs to be here. Markus wonders if he had been looking for him.

“So,” Markus takes a seat on the armchair while Leo joins Richard on the couch, “why would Connor’s younger brother, who has no connection to my father, be visiting his grave?”

Richard takes a drink from his Powerade bottle and leans back onto the couch, crossing one leg over the other. “Your father was a famous artist. It’s not crazy for an admirer of his work to pay him a visit. In any case, I was asked to.”

“Why?” Markus questions. He can’t take his eyes off of Richard. Even with all his stark differences in appearance to Connor, he looks so much like him that it’s dizzying. It kills him to know that this is the closest to Connor he could get for a while.

“It doesn’t matter,” Richard replies. He has a curt voice. He comes off as very no-nonsense, but also polite. Markus isn’t sure yet what to make of him.

“That’s my father’s grave,” Markus reminds, perhaps just as curtly. “It matters to me.”

Richard just shrugs. “You have my answer. Do you have any other questions?”

Leo puffs up there, but Markus raises a hand to stop him. He wants to wax angry and start interrogating Richard about the situation as much as the next guy, but he also knows that if he’s not careful, he could lose the chance of getting any answers altogether. So, for the sake of the possibility of gaining a lead toward finding Connor, he changes the subject.

“Aren’t you staying with Amanda right now?”

Richard raises an eyebrow. “You know more about the situation than I thought.” He releases a sigh and takes another drink. “I have been staying with her, yes, but I got called into town. I’ll be returning to Nola tomorrow to stay with her again.”

“How’s she doing?” Markus asks, and Richard frowns again.

“That’s on par with you wondering why I’m stopping to visit your father’s grave.”

“I’ve got my reasons for suspecting that has to do with Connor.”

Richard lets his eyes fall shut. “As does you worrying about his mother.”

Markus raises both eyebrows. “So Connor told you to visit my father.”

“That’s an extreme assumption to make.” Richard’s expression flattens, as he returns the bottle to the coffee table. Markus notices that he doesn’t sit rigidly at all, like Connor did.

“Is it the right one?” Markus pries.

“That would imply he and I are on speaking terms.”

“Excuse me?” Markus furrows his brow at him. “He’s your _brother_.”

“My brother, who removed himself from his mother’s life before he had the chance to meet me.”

“She was controlling him!” Markus stands upright there, teeth bared. “He left because he didn’t have a choice!”

Richard doesn’t move. “He never once voiced to her that he felt that way.”

“He didn’t feel like he was allowed to!”

“ _Sit down,_ Markus.” Richard may still be perched on the couch, but his gaze is sharp as it locks on Markus’. And Markus glares sharply right back. He hadn’t even realized how quickly he had jumped to the defensive over Connor, but here he is, ready to punch his brother’s lights out over the guy.

He really does need to calm down. There are two sides to every story, he supposes…

That in mind, he sighs and shakes his head, before he moves to lower himself to the chair once more.

“Connor was not aware of my existence up until a few days ago,” Richard clarifies. “The last person he cares to entertain the presence of is the one he believes replaced him. Actually, I was called on to visit your father’s grave by Elijah Kamski, who has been maintaining contact with Amanda ever since her first TIA diagnosis. He sent me out here in his stead to check on your father’s headstone, and also to find you.”

Markus frowns. “Did something happen?”

“Amanda’s health hasn’t deteriorated, if that’s what you mean.”

Markus shakes his head. “No, with Connor. Why are you looking for me instead of Elijah? He was close friends with my father. He has no reason to be afraid to come and see me.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Richard explains. He reaches for his drink once more and unscrews the cap. “Connor is staying with Elijah, and while he’s been sworn to secrecy about it, he sent me to find you, because while Connor won’t make the decision himself, Elijah believes you should come to him.”

And like that, Markus has a lead.

His lips flatten into a nervous line as he removes his phone from his pocket and dials Daniel’s number.

“You’re coming with us to Kamski’s,” he tells Richard simply.

Richard sports the tiniest of smiles in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guhhh forgive me! I hope you liked this chapter! Thank you guys so much for giving it a read, and as always, comments and bookmarks and kudos are all loved! ; w;


	14. Beneath Your Beautiful Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a LOT. a lot of words and a lot of information and a lot of feelings all packed into 14,500 words. i apologize for the sheer overstimulation of it all. pls don't hate me!

“This is by far the shittiest idea you’ve ever come up with.”

“Yeah, well, you’re going along with it regardless.”

Richard has long-since left, announcing his plans to return to Carl’s grave and give him the wishes Elijah had requested. He has promised to return to Elijah’s place once he is finished, and Markus has called Daniel up. While it’s true that Elijah had only requested Markus come and visit Connor, Markus doesn’t feel right going by himself. Sure, he’s important to Connor, but Daniel is his best _friend_. There are things Daniel knows about Connor that Markus doesn’t. There are discussions the two of them can have that Markus and Connor can’t yet do so.

Markus also doesn’t believe for a second that Connor would exclude his best friend from his life over one incident, especially if Markus had agreed that Daniel had done the right thing. Asking Connor to cut ties with Amanda hadn’t been a bad decision. The events that had followed had sucked, but that doesn’t mean anything when it comes to their friendship.

If anything, it means Connor needs Daniel now more than ever.

So yeah, he’s dragging Daniel along with him.

“I told you, it’s _you_ he’s gonna need,” Daniel snarls, even though he willingly climbed into the car with Markus and they’re both now on their way to Elijah Kamski’s house on the outskirts of town.

“You said it yourself:” Markus clarifies matter-of-factly. “I don’t get to play the boyfriend card this time. There’s a lot here that I don’t have a place in. Yeah, maybe the fact that our relationship is still a little new and we’re probably still in the honeymoon phase is why Elijah thinks I need to come see him instead of anyone else, but in the end, you know him better than I do.”

Daniel doesn’t respond initially. His focus is shifted out the window, and Markus hears the ‘thunk' of his forehead on the glass as he rests against it before he speaks up. “I had no right to tell him what to do with regards to Amanda.”

Markus frowns, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. “I dunno, Daniel. I don’t think you did anything all that unforgivable.”

“Maybe not,” Daniel replies dully, “but how you and I see it may be different from how Connor sees it. Guy thinks he’s been replaced. He’s probably been spending the past handful of days trying to figure out where he went wrong. It’s only a matter of time before he concludes that it’s because he took my advice.”

Markus sighs loudly. He’s not a big drinker, but god, he wishes he had more southern comfort at home. He’s going to need it tonight, regardless of the way things go.

“Did you pull his ear and make him do it?” Markus asks, irritated. He’s focused on the road, but he can feel the icy glare Daniel fixes him with.

“Excuse me?” Daniel questions incredulously.

“Did you _make_ him do it?”

“…The fuck kind of question is that, Markus?”

“Just answer,” Markus grunts impatiently.

“Jesus christ…” Daniel sighs. “No, Markus. I just told him what I thought he should do.”

“And he took your advice.”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

Markus rolls his eyes. “The point is, you gave him an opinion. You told him what you thought was the best course of action. Yeah, Connor may have been a little lost at the time, but in the end, it was _his_ decision to deal with it the way he did. Ask North or Simon or Josh or even _Leo_ what they’d have suggested, and they’d all tell you they’d have done the same thing.”

“None of us knew her,” Daniel reminds him. “Nobody had a right to form any sort of an opinion without knowing her.”

“You say that like he knew this would happen and made the choice anyway,” Markus snaps. “Look, none of us could have predicted that Connor would have a younger brother. None of us could have imagined Amanda would find some way to connect with him. It’s completely insane to think that you deserve any blame for the fact that Connor got blindsided with news like this.”

Markus feels Daniel’s gaze on him again. This time, it seems a little less harsh, so he deems it safe to keep speaking. “But if you still feel guilty, it’s a damned good thing I decided to bring you along, because you can apologize to him yourself.”

Daniel doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he returns his focus to the window. After some hesitation, he speaks again. “What’re you gonna say to him?”

Markus shakes his head. “Honestly, I haven’t the slightest clue. I know I want to tell him I’m here for him, and that he can take all the time he needs to regroup, but I won’t make any decisions on how to go about it until I see him.”

Daniel nods. “Which is probably why Kamski thought you were the guy who needed to speak to him. He knows Connor needs someone who isn’t going to try and guilt him back into their life like Amanda is.”

Markus frowns. “Do you think that’s why Richard suddenly appeared in his life?”

Daniel shakes his head. “I don’t think he has as much pull in this whole charade as we all keep assuming. My guess is either Amanda or Kamski told Connor about him so he wouldn’t be blindsided when he went to visit. But now, we don’t know if he’s even going to bother visiting. And the hardest part is, I’ve never seen him pull a legitimate disappearing act like this. Normally, he comes right back after a handful of hours. There’s no telling what’s going on in his head this time around.”

Markus already agrees, and it shows in the firmness of his expression. “That’s why I brought you. You’ve seen him in worse situations than I have. You probably know how to handle him if it’s as bad as we’re acting like it is.”

Daniel scoffs. “Don’t give me that much credit. I don’t know shit.”

Markus scoffs right back. “Well, it’s too late, now.”

\--- --- --- --- ---

“Markus…” Elijah looks relieved to see Markus at the door, but his expression falters when he notices Daniel standing next to him. He turns his gaze to Markus, who shrugs.

“You want me to help Connor? I’m probably gonna need his best friend for that.”

Elijah either doesn’t see a reason to argue or doesn’t care. Either way, he steps aside to give the two men room to enter. They’re guided through a heavily-decorated foyer and to a door on the left side. It leads to a small hallway that opens up into a massive living area. Ample couch space adorns the center of the room, and a widescreen television is mounted on the wall at the other side. Markus pays it little mind as Elijah turns to face him and Daniel once more.

“You,” the professor gestures toward Daniel, firmly directing him to the couch with a gesticulation of his hand, “make yourself at home. I’ll bring you a drink and some snacks.”

Markus frowns at Elijah, but he cuts him off before he can think of anything to say.

“I expressly requested _you_ , Markus,” Elijah points out with a tone that almost sounds scolding. “I don’t know what you might think bringing more of the people Connor is escaping here is going to do, but we try _my_ plan first. If it doesn’t work, we’ll do it your way. Now, come with me.”

He directs Markus down a hallway off to the side, where the bedrooms seem to be. Markus realizes that he doesn’t know much about Elijah, despite his father having been close friends with the man since Markus could remember.

“He’s been staying in Chloe’s old room,” Elijah explains as they walk. “He’s upset, but he isn’t weak. He’s had a few days to process everything so you don’t need to coddle him.”

“Why did he come out here?” Markus asks, his gaze on the floor as they walk. “I know his mother knows you, but…”

Elijah shakes his head. “Amanda asked me to take him in. Chloe told me he had gone missing when he got the news, so I reached out to him. He wanted some space. Nothing more, nothing less. He handles things in an unusual way, but he’s been through a lot. There _is_ a method to his madness.”

“Okay, but why did you call on me?” Markus asks. “Yeah, we’re together, but he hasn’t responded to any of my messages or calls. What makes you think I’m an exception to his desire for space?”

“You’re not,” Elijah deadpans as he stops about a yard away from a door at the end of the hall. His voice drops there. “I explicitly requested you because you’re Carl’s son. That man had a way with words and a presence that made me feel like I was best friends with a god sometimes. And you gained a lot of that from him. I trust the wisdom you inherited from your father. If anyone can open that young man’s eyes, it’s you. Or the ghost of your father.” Elijah clamps a hand around Markus' shoulder, giving it a squeeze, and nods toward the door.

Markus stares at it for a second, but eventually nods and starts toward it. He can hear Elijah walking away, leaving the two of them to themselves, and as he knocks, he feels a pang of anxiety.

Connor has no idea he’s here. There’s no telling how he’s going to react.

Despite that, Markus summons up the rest of his resolve and turns the knob, pushing the door open.

Chloe’s old room is big and inviting. It’s got pictures on the walls of herself and Elijah and friends Markus guesses come from high school. Trophies and awards adorn the shelves mounted onto the walls, and the room is painted a cloudy sort of pastel blue that contrasts strangely well with dark gray carpet. Her bed is a queen-sized bed that sits against a wall off to the right, and in front of it is an armchair that faces a television mounted on a nearby wall. Next to the chair is an open bay window.

Connor isn’t in the room, but Markus knows where he went. He peers out the window, and sees that it overlooks a cobblestone sidewalk that curves around the side of the house. Markus hops out onto the sidewalk and follows it.

The path boasts an extravagant view of the yard and lake behind the house. Trees and water and hills line the area, and as Markus follows the winding sidewalk, he can’t help but feel a little mesmerized by the sight.

The sidewalk leads to a massive lake, and it winds hand-in-hand with the shore until it reaches a gazebo perched out on a jetty that extends into the lake.

Connor sits atop the roof of the gazebo, and for the first time since the two have met, he’s slouched. His hands are in his lap as he stares off at the water. The breeze carries his hair around him, and his mouth hangs open, almost as if he’s in awe by the view. Markus wouldn’t be surprised, had he not already suspected that Connor has been out here before.

It’s such an overwhelming relief to see Connor sitting there that Markus is almost afraid to break the silence. But he heeds Elijah’s words and finally musters up the strength to speak.

“Connor…”

Connor’s eyes go wide at the recognition of his boyfriend’s voice. He turns abruptly to look at him, and then he looks frantic. He grunts out Markus' name and then climbs down from the roof and walks over.

He looks tired. Markus can’t tell if it’s the kind of tired that comes from lack of sleep or if it’s the kind that comes from too much, but he does see the shadows under Connor’s eyes and the slightly unkempt state of his hair and clothes. Connor immediately moves to curl an arm around himself, almost as if he’s ashamed.

“What’re you doing here?” he asks softly.

“Elijah sent me,” Markus responds, frowning. “We’ve all been worried about you. He told me you need space, but he also asked for me to come talk to you.”

“I’m sorry…” Connor steps forward and raises a hand up to flatten it on Markus' chest. He notes that it’s the exact same spot where he had left that painted handprint on the night of their first kiss. “I didn’t mean to worry you all, but I’m fine, okay?”

Markus sighs heavily. If Connor is fine, why is he hiding out here? Does ‘I just need some space’ really count as a legitimate explanation to a disappearing act he pulled that has even Hank scratching his head? Markus feels a little irritated at that thought, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Are you ready to come home?” Markus decides to ask, and he sees the hopeful look on Connor’s face falter. The answer is in his expression, so Markus doesn’t really have to keep pushing.

He’s about to ask if there’s anything he can do when Connor moves to draw himself closer. He feels one of those pale hands slide up to cup the side of his face, and unconsciously leans into the brush of the thumb against his cheek. His eyes fall shut, and he almost melts into the contact.

When they come open again, Markus’ heart genuinely aches. Connor looks so very heartbreakingly sad right now. His big brown eyes are wide and seem to gleam more than usual, and his eyebrows are furrowed up. He keeps opening and closing his mouth as if he’s looking for something to say, but in the end, he just gives up and leans in to press a kiss to Markus’ lips.

Four days without that kiss does Markus in. He’s weak with affection, as he curls his arms around Connor’s shoulders and pulls him in close so that he can kiss him back. His grip is protective and intended to err toward the side of comforting, and he assumes it’s working when Connor slides his arms around his waist and tips his head into the kiss.

But it feels different. Connor is kissing him desperately, almost fervently. It’s as if he’s in some sort of rush, and it’s so emotionless and unlike him that it alarms Markus, who breaks it off and gapes at his boyfriend in surprise.

“Connor…talk to me,” Markus tries, and for a second, he thinks Connor is going to do so. But just as quickly, he slips in close once more. Markus shudders when Connor noses at his neck and presses a kiss there.

“I want to fool around. Let’s go back to the bedroom.”

Markus likes fooling around. Really, he does. But right now, he knows that Connor doesn’t want it as much as he’s letting on. He runs his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair, and then gently urges him back and shakes his head. “We don’t need to do this. Please, tell me what’s on your mind.”

Connor frowns deeply, before he leans up and tries at another kiss. Markus kisses back, though slowly, to try and pace him. Connor is perceptive and follows suit, placing a hand on his boyfriend’s chest.

What Markus feels with that contact breaks his heart. He pulls away once more, taking Connor’s wrist and urging his hand away from his chest, and then he stares right into those sad, honey-tea eyes.

“Connor…you’re shaking.”

“You’re delusional,” Connor retorts, pulling himself from Markus’ grip. “When’s the last time you went to visit Lucy?”

“Two days ago,” Marks answers quickly, scowling. “This isn’t about me, Connor. You look like you’re about to break down crying in front of me. And you know what? That’s okay. I’d rather you do it around me than alone.”

Connor backs away a step. “I’m fine, Markus.”

“No,” Markus snaps back, taking a step forward to close their distance once more, “you’re not.”

“I think I’d know my own feelings,” Connor tells him harshly.

“I know you know them,” Markus tries again, extending his arms out at his sides desperately. “But I want to know them, too. How am I supposed to be there for you when you won’t even let me in?”

“Don’t talk to me like that,” Connor grunts, looking away.

Markus finally stops, his shoulders slumping. “Like what? I’m just trying to help…”

“Yeah, well,” Connor narrows his eyes, “you’re not helping.” His expression reminds Markus of the way he regards Hank. Angry and panic-stricken, as if any minute, something might go wrong.

Markus is afraid to say anything after that, but he persists. “…Is there something I can do? Something you know will help? Back when we went camping, you told me I had a way of making you feel like everything was okay. Of helping you find your way back home. You should let me get you there.”

Connor takes another step back. And then another. And then another. He’s underneath the gazebo, all covered in the shade created by the structure, when he finally speaks up again.

“My instinct is to cut and run,” he explains. “Ever since I dropped out of school and stopped talking to Mom. It’s always worked out for me. I escaped the hold she had on me and got to enjoy my life. If I needed fresh air, I walked around Detroit. Before all that, I didn’t know what else to do. It was either be trapped or be free, but this doesn’t feel like freedom.”

Markus braves a step forward, and Connor doesn’t stop him.

“I got away from Mom,” Connor continues, “but I never hated her. She’s always going to be my mom, you know? And then, she told me I had a brother. Younger, by a couple of years, and I can’t even remember him. For some reason, my biological parents decided I was too much and gave me away, but they kept _him_.” He shifts his weight uncomfortably. “For once, I felt appreciated by my mother. For the fifteen seconds of conversation we had, I felt like I mattered to her as more than just the career she’d tried to transform me into.”

Markus knows this story, but somehow, hearing it from Connor is more intense. More vivid. More painful.

“And then she went on to tell me that she’d made contact with this brother of mine. That she’d just…filled the void I left without hesitation. That Richard was a _good_ person. And what does that make me? I’m just the sorry excuse for a son who left when he couldn’t take it anymore.”

Okay, Connor is visibly shaking now. Markus tries to reach out and touch him, but he raises a hand to stop him.

“My parents gave up on me. My _mother_ gave up on me, and I don’t get to be mad about that, because I was the one who cut her off.” Connor turns his gaze up to Markus, his eyes welling up. “But I’m scared, Markus. How long’s it going to take for others to do the same thing? For Daniel to? For you? All your friends? I’m nothing special—just another _guy_. There’s nothing memorable about me.”

“Excuse me?” Markus tenses. For the first time since he met Connor, he genuinely feels angry with him. “Last I knew, Con, that was _my_ choice to make.”

“And I wish you’d make it already!” Connor snaps, the tears streaming from his eyes as if triggered by those words. He sounds desperate— _looks_ desperate. “What do you think of me?! Am I something _special_? Flawless, helpful, reassuring? The perfect cure to your own mental illness?”

“Connor, that’s enough,” Markus snarls.

“No, it’s not.” Connor glares at him. “You don’t see it, because I stupidly put on this front from the first day I met you. It’s all I’m good at, you know?” He’s still crying, and Markus is torn between wanting to hold him and wanting to storm away. He just wishes all this chaos would end. “I tried so hard to make myself unforgettable to you. To give you a reason to want to hold on to me and never let me go. I was so scared that I wouldn’t be good enough for you, but I’m _tired_. You think I haven’t seen the way you look at me? Like I’m some superhuman being, capable of defying logic?”

“Connor—”

Connor fixes him with such a fierce scowl that it stops him dead in his tracks. “For a while, I was proud about that. And then _this_ happened. And I just…damn it, I want to be _normal_ and I want you to _love_ me for it. Or…in spite of it, or something. I’m tired of working on my posture and trying to maintain a smile and acting like I think above ground all the time. You’re so perfectly flawed, Markus, and you’ve got no inhibitions about letting it show. Why can’t I do the same?”

“You can, though,” Markus finally manages, his eyebrows furrowed in a sad frown. “If you think all the times you’ve reassured me or helped me work on my painting are all I care about, you’re mistaken.”

Connor makes no effort to wipe away his tears. They’re coming down his cheeks in big globs, making his eyelashes look thicker and heavier, but he just looks like he doesn’t have the energy to do away with them. If only he’d let Markus come closer.

“Daniel told me the exact same thing, you know,” Markus continues softly, taking a cautious step toward Connor. “He said you’ve spent a long time trying to be perfect in my eyes. Said that I needed to stop seeing you the way I do—that I needed to look for the guy that’s beneath all of that. But the thing is, I think I’ve seen him before.”

Connor looks up at him, his face still wrought with despair. He really is taking all of this hard, isn’t he?

“I see him in the mornings, when we wake up together.” Markus smiles—or well, tries his best to. It’s kind of hard to when Connor is looking at him as sadly as he is right now. “I see him when the alcohol gets into his system and makes him a little more uninhibited. I saw him at the hamburger jail. And I see him even when he thinks he’s acting like a big, reassuring life support system. If you think all you are is an act, then just _stop_. Let me see who’s hiding underneath all that beauty. Let me see you at your rawest.”

Connor shakes his head. “I…”

Every now and then, time stops for Markus. Normally, it’s when he’s hallucinating. When all the color drains from the world and Markus is jarred into some subreality that he can’t pull himself back from. When a memory or an image haunts him fiercely and makes him feel utterly incapable of normal function.

But this time, it’s because of Connor. When Connor’s eyebrows curl upward violently and he opens his mouth to let out a loud, hiccupping sob and brings his hands up to cover his eyes, the disappearance of those honey-tea eyes sucks the life out of the beautiful lakeside scenery around them. Connor drops to his knees and just _cries_ , and the words that follow make Markus feel sick.

“I don’t know how.”

Markus watches him curl in on himself, doubled over and shaking. He’s light-headed with grief as Connor hiccups and cries all over himself. He’s never seen his boyfriend this way, and it hurts so damned much. Hurts in a way so similar to seeing Carl weaken over all those years that Markus almost feels like he’s reliving the past.

He wants to cry a little, himself.

And he knows what Connor is trying to say, because he’s heard him talk about it time and time again. All those times when Amanda had told him that he’d had to maintain an image. That modeling agencies would scrutinize the hell out of him. He’s been raised as an actor, and when it comes down to learning how to be _himself_ , he’s completely lost.

Or maybe he isn’t. Maybe this is just a part of him that he doesn’t like. He doesn’t have to be a people pleaser all the time, but it’s a quality, and even if it was conditioned into him, it’s a part of who he is. There’s more to him than that, but…well, perhaps it’s time for both Connor and Markus to accept that this is something Connor needs time to work on.

Markus moves forward the last few steps and crouches onto one knee. He curls his arms around his boyfriend’s frame and pulls him toward him. This time, Connor doesn’t fight it. He just slumps into Markus’ grip and continues to cry. And Markus lets him. He just silently holds him against him, running his fingers through his hair. Nuzzles his cheek up against the top of the younger man’s head.

When Connor’s sobs finally die off into shaky breaths, he pulls away. Sits back on his knees and rests his hands in his lap. He doesn’t look up at Markus, but honestly, Markus understands. He’d looked that pitiful once before, too. It’s hard to bring yourself to make eye contact with someone you wish you could look stronger in front of.

“You said Daniel was here, too?” Connor finally manages, still looking down at the ground.

“Yeah,” Markus replies softly. “He feels at least somewhat guilty for all of this. I was hoping you’d tell him he’s crazy for it.”

Connor scoffs bitterly. “…He’s stupid. Knowing him, he thinks telling me I should cut Amanda off is the reason for all this, huh?”

“That’s exactly what it is.” Markus laughs.

“Tell me, Markus…” Connor finally looks up at him, and much to his relief, he finally musters up the strength to wipe away his own tears. He makes a gross display of using his forearm to do so, smearing his sleeve in snot and moisture. “Would you have suggested the same thing?”

Markus shrugs. “Honestly? Yeah. Whether or not you’re in this situation, Amanda was controlling. And she made the choice to connect with your brother. She could have apologized or come to a realization about why you did it. Instead, she found a substitute.”

“Elijah says he’s in town. Is that true?”

“It is.” Markus nods. “Elijah sent him to find me, actually. I spoke briefly with him—he’s supposed to be coming out here himself.”

“What?” Connor gapes up at him. “Why?”

“To talk to you, of course,” Markus resolves aloud. “He’s not a bad guy. He likes Amanda, but that doesn’t mean he has to hate you by default.”

Connor tenses again. “I don’t want to meet him.”

“Connor…” Markus sighs. “He’s your _brother_. This could be the closure you need.”

“Wait…” Connor frowns. “Did you put him up to this?”

Markus shakes his head. “I…might have, yeah. I didn’t exactly say he needed to come and speak to you, but I did ask him to come out here with me.”

“Why would you do that?” Connor balks. “Markus—that wasn’t your place!”

Markus doesn’t speak there. Honestly, Connor’s right. He instead watches as Connor gets to his feet. He doesn’t look angry, surprisingly. If anything, he looks hurt.

“Look, I see what you’re trying to do here, but I can’t handle him right now.” Connor’s hands knot into fists. “I’m happy that you and Leo are working on patching things up, but my situation with Richard is entirely different. I’ve never even _met_ the guy!”

“Connor…”

“What am I supposed to say to him? We’re not meant to get along, Markus…” Connor swallows nervously. “He’s the guy who _replaced_ me. This is a slap in the face, if anything.”

One step forward, two steps back.

Markus stands up and shakes his head. “You don’t have to be his friend, Connor. I just thought that—”

“—You thought it’d give me closure, I know,” Connor cuts in. “Again, that wasn’t your place. I’ll deal with my problems at my own speed, okay? I appreciate that you’re trying to help me, but this is too much.” He shakes his head and turns away. “Can you leave? I need time to think.”

“Con—”

“—No, okay?” Connor rounds on him again. “Go _away_. I miss you so damned much, but…well, you see the way I am right now? I’ve got things I need to deal with, and I need you to _let_ me handle them.” He turns away once more. “Tell Daniel I’m not mad at him.”

Markus’ shoulders slump, and for a while, he catches himself staring at the shadowy form of Connor’s back. Guilt swarms around him, and he takes a step back. His throat feels tight as he turns away.

“Don’t be a stranger, okay? I’m just a phone call away.”

\--- --- --- --- ---

Markus and Daniel aren’t there long enough to find out if Richard ever came out to see Connor. Partly, Markus feels relief for that fact. But he mostly feels guilt for having asked him to come out without Connor’s permission in the first place. Also, some bitterness for the fact that he knows he couldn’t have asked Connor beforehand, anyway.

He hasn’t felt this conflicted in a long time. Probably since his father passed away and he was forced to handle everything on his own.

He and Connor were supposed to go visit Amanda in three days. Markus feels like that’s not the plan at this point. Hell, the conversation he had with Connor barely gave him enough information to decide if Connor is even going to bother going to visit his mother anymore. It’s difficult to tell what exactly he’s thinking. Is he angry because his mother sought out Richard in his absence? Or is he still saddened about her health status and thinking about going to see her alone?

Can he _handle_ her alone?

Markus wants so desperately to be there for Connor, but Connor made a point to ask for space, and if he wants any chance at keeping Connor in his life, he has to back away. He has to wait.

And he feels like he’s coming out of his skin doing so.

He buys that southern comfort he was thinking about getting earlier. With classes out and no Connor and likely no impending Amanda visit, it’s not like he has anything else to do, anyway. His painting isn’t going anywhere, and Connor had wanted to be there to see it through.

North tries to drag him to a movie, but he refuses. It’s not all because of Connor, he swears. He just doesn’t feel like going out and sitting in some theater. So instead, North plants her ass by his side in front of a television screen and they watch _Cruel Intentions_ together for the umpteenth time. She even takes a few drinks of his booze.

Josh asks him to cook with him, which passes the time pretty nicely. Josh is a quick learner, and Markus mainly just supervises and points out some techniques he learned from Carl. They discuss the old man for a while, and even after having gone off on him earlier, Josh seems pretty okay with being around Markus, even _while_ he drinks. Simon was probably right in telling him he’d been worried.

Simon and Daniel, meanwhile, are off doing their own thing. Some family business they’ve been asked to go on during Simon’s break. Daniel doesn’t look like he’s feeling much better than Markus is, though. They’ve both got a sour taste in their mouth from what happened with Connor, and even though he leaves peacefully enough with his brother, he’s in a surlier mood than usual.

The thing is, time passes. Even though Connor’s not around, time goes by. Markus misses him every single minute of the day, but he’s got things he needs to do, and Connor needs his space.

He can reassure himself of this all day if he wants to, and when he’s got his friends around him, it works. But the minute he finds himself in bed, that nagging separation anxiety is overwhelming. Markus has been a little bit drunk all day from the southern comfort he gulps down every hour or so, but it does nothing to help him sleep. Southern comfort doesn’t have anything on those hands pressed against his chest or that face nuzzled into the crook of his neck.

It’s not just worrying about their future that’s got Markus preoccupied, either. It’s the fact that he’s grown so accustomed to having Connor around that when he knows there’s no way he can have him, he feels like coming undone.

It’s a unique feeling in itself. A sense of dread, accompanied by the sensation that his skin is crawling. He tosses and turns, and then he gives up and returns to the fridge for more alcohol.

He doesn’t know how much he’s had to drink, but a handful of thick swallows later, and Markus is finally able to pass out. As sleep finally washes over him, he finds himself thinking about how strange it is that he hasn’t hallucinated recently.

\--- --- --- --- ---

_Markus is strong. He’s got no choice but to be. His father is all-but dead, lying unconscious in a hospital bed with a fucking ventilator keeping him alive, and he’s got to make a decision. The DNR order says to let him go, but Markus isn’t ready yet. He will—he’ll honor his father’s wishes, but not yet. He needs some time to get ready for it. He needs to give his brother a chance to say goodbye. He needs to be prepared to do the same for himself._

_So he’s asked for one more night from the hospital and he’s gone out to his father’s home. The wind is fierce tonight. It howls and pounds at the glass walls that encase Carl’s studio. Despite the chaos outside, however, everything within those walls is steady and unwavering. The paintings on the walls and tables and easel don’t so much as jiggle in the wake of the wind._

_Markus, however, feels like he might shatter any second._

_Despite that, the studio is a comfort in itself. Even after Carl dies, Markus knows he’ll be in here, seeking solace. Painting isn’t just something you do because you want to make a picture. Like running or reading or screaming or even wailing away at a punching bag, it’s an outlet. Each brush stroke is a thought, and when those strokes are combined, they come together to form an emotion. Carl’s paintings aren’t as fantastic as they are simply because he’s a good artist. They’re fantastic because he puts his heart into them. He paints because it helps him put his thoughts into something that others can interpret._

_Sure, people purchase them because they look good, but unconsciously, everyone who stops in front of one of those works is connecting to it somehow. They’re drawing out a feeling that maybe they don’t understand, but it appeals to them in a unique way. It’s not necessarily the same thing Carl was feeling while painting it, but the connection is there. The sentimental value bleeds from one person to the next like a transplant, and it’s the most human feeling in the world._

_Carl taught Markus that. He can still recall the countless times his father had told him that he needed to do something else with his art. That replicating images he’d spotted while riding the school bus or sitting in class is beautiful, but it’s not everything. He had once suggested Markus close his eyes and think about how he feels. He’d suggested that he visualize an emotion and let that feeling draw his paintbrush to the canvas._

_And Markus had laughed at those words. He’d always respected his father’s art, but to paint with his eyes closed? That’s absurd._

_Now, he wishes he’d heeded Carl’s words._

_Now, he has nothing left of his father but these paintings. These feelings he had supposedly replicated straight from his heart. He has no Carl to stand behind him and guide him through the process. What’s the point of even trying if the one willing to coax him through it isn’t even there?_

_Markus thinks bitterly that the instant Carl is gone, so is art. Not just Carl’s or Markus’, but art in itself is going to cease to exist, because the only man who ever understood it at its rawest is lying in a hospital bed, waiting to die._

_Markus doesn’t realize just how much this thought has been plaguing him until he’s suddenly very angry. Or maybe it’s more like being frantically frustrated. He strides toward the easel in the corner of the room, where a half-painted, undiscernible image sits, and rips the canvas from the easel. He sends it flying off to the side, where it lands on one of its corners and spins, shooting off to the other end of the room._

_The chaos is strangely soothing, but the instant the picture comes to a stop on the ground, Markus feels panicked. He sprints over and drops to his knees, wide eyes taking in the sight of the painting. It isn’t damaged, but when Markus looks down, he’s reminded abruptly that this painting is something his father had been working on. A few strokes of blue remind Markus of water, and there are tan brush strokes stretched upward like a tree, but the tree reminds Markus of a hand. It almost looks like the palm is groping for water that just continuously manages to slide through its fingers._

_Like desperation and loneliness and just…_

_“Come back, Dad…”_

_Markus is on his knees, tears flowing down his cheeks, before he even realizes it. His trembling hands brush across the dried paint, and he shakes his head. He just wants Carl to live. He isn’t sure he can do this without him. Once Carl’s gone, what’s the point? He’d learned everything from him, and for what? To go to college for art? To paint for himself? Does he even have an identity outside of that desire?_

_Was it even his own desire to start with?_

_And then Markus remembers Sebastian. That little fish swimming in circles in the tank his father had purchased for him. He remembers asking Carl to paint him, just in case he died. He wanted some way to hold onto Sebastian, and Carl had taught him just how to do that._

_The tears stop, and Markus’ jaw drops with realization. He picks the painting up off the ground and carries it back to the easel, where he returns it to its rightful place. Almost as if operating on muscle memory, Markus gets to work mixing colors. Dips a brush into a deep shade of blue. Runs it across the canvas._

_Very soon, Carl Manfred is going to be dead. His paintings are going to be all that’s left of him. Memories of a hand swishing gracefully, conducting art onto a canvas like it’s his own song. Markus is going to miss him so much._

_He grits his teeth as he draws another desperate stroke across the surface. He wants Carl back, but this is the closest he’s going to get. This, for all intents and purposes, could serve as a collaborative piece. One last hoorah before Carl is gone forever._

_This is it. This is how Markus says goodbye._

_He’s sick with grief as he works, but he doesn’t stop. The minutes turn into hours, and the hours eventually shift into an entire night spent painting. By the time Markus has stepped back away from the canvas, the sun is creeping up into the sky._

_But he’s satisfied. Now, he’s constructed the image into exactly the way he visualized it. A hand groping for purchase around an indomitable body of water. The painted image of Markus’ inner turmoil over having so much ripped right out from under his feet. Did Carl feel this way when he had started the painting? Was this what he had been wanting to convey?_

_Markus doesn’t have much time to think about it, though, because as the adrenaline from the night’s work of feverishly painting washes away and vertigo takes over, he drops the palette to the floor and topples over, unconscious._

_\--- --- --- --- ---_

When Markus awakens, it’s with a fierce jolt of nausea that sends him flying out of his bed and sprinting for the bathroom. His hangover upends itself from his stomach just in time for him to reach the toilet, where he’s doubled over. His head is pounding, and the sensation only grows more fierce every time his stomach decides to clench and make him heave yet again.

He can barely breathe by the time he’s done, and once it’s over, he flushes and slumps sideways against his bathtub.

He needs water. God, he needs water.

His arms are shaking, but he manages to reach the faucet and turn the bath on. He cups his hand under the faucet and then splashes the water over his face. It’s still ice cold, but the violent shift in temperature helps drag him out of the groggy, sickened state his hangover currently has him in.

It’s a good fifteen minutes later before he’s able to get to his feet, but once he’s sure he can walk without his legs giving out, he rights himself and washes his mouth out, then goes to find clothes to change in.

“God, you reek of booze,” North’s voice catches Markus’ attention halfway through taking off the shirt he’d gone to bed in. He glances over at her and releases a sigh, though he can’t come up with another viable response, so he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he just shrugs.

North sighs in return, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorway. “You couldn’t sleep again?”

Markus shakes his head. “It was a long night.”

North frowns. “What’re you gonna do? I know you don’t plan on doing this forever.”

“No…I don’t.”

“So get a sleep aide or talk to Lucy.”

Markus just shrugs. “Lucy knows what’s going on. There’s nothing she can do to help me. Besides, this isn’t about me.”

North scoffs. “Funny, because you’re doing a damned good job of _making_ it about you.”

“Excuse me?” Markus frowns at her, but she doesn’t waver. North never does.

“You heard me. Your boyfriend is suffering and you’re in here, making it all about yourself.”

“That’s not how it is,” Markus retorts. “I’m bored. There’s nothing to do.”

“Bullshit, Markus, there’s plenty.” North lets her arms fall to her sides. “You’re just too busy getting all ‘woe is me' and crying in your beer to do anything. It’s like a bad joke that keeps dodging the punchline.”

Markus rolls his eyes. He moves to shrug a new shirt on but North cuts him off. She yanks it away and casts it onto the mattress nearby. “Get in the shower.”

“Why?”

North scowls at him. “Because you stink like whiskey! And also because you’re not gonna mope around. You didn’t start the alcoholic bullshit when your dad died, and you’re sure as shit not doing it because Connor put your relationship on hiatus.”

“My relationship isn’t--"

“Shut up, wash behind your ears!”

North disappears from the room before Markus can say anything else, leaving him standing there, half naked. His head is pounding and he still feels like he could throw up, and North is trying to make him go out. Doesn’t she have things to do with her girlfriend?

And his relationship is _not_ on hiatus.

\--- --- --- --- ---

Turns out North doesn’t have anything big planned. She’s literally just got Markus walking the street with her. She has purchased him an iced coffee and forced him to take an aspirin, and at the very least, she doesn’t seem to be complaining about the fact that he’s walking around with sunglasses on.

Sometimes, he remembers why she’s his best friend.

“So…just walking?” he asks her for probably the fifth time. He doesn’t want to be out here. He wants to be at home, in his room, being the grumpy recluse he believes he’s allowed to be for a little while longer.

But North either disagrees or doesn’t care what he thinks, because she just shrugs. “And maybe some shopping. I haven’t been to a thrift store in a while.”

North loves thrift shopping. Back when she and Markus had been in high school, one of their favorite dives had been a little hole-in-the-wall thrift store not far from their campus. The staff had known them by name. Markus finds himself wondering if they still would. If their store is even still a thing. They hadn’t had many customers back in the day…

But Markus enjoys it, too. He does more window shopping than anything, but it’s always fascinating to see what odds and ends people have decided to part with.

So no, Markus doesn’t mind the idea. On top of that, he may actually be able to take his glasses off if the store is dim enough.

North takes them to a shop a mile or so out. It’s small, but she seems to know it like the old one. An old-fashioned doorbell chimes above them as they step inside.

Markus folds up his sunglasses and hooks them to the neck of his shirt as he enters. He’s greeted by an eccentric young man who smiles at him in a way that shows off all of his teeth. The man can’t be older than eighteen, but the nametag (which reads ‘JERRY') boasts ownership of the store, so Markus imagines he’s a lot older than he looks.

North goes straight to him, and the two are suddenly chattering away like they’ve known each other their entire lives. Markus cocks an eyebrow at her, and she waves him over.

“Markus, this is Jerry,” she introduces. “He’s one of four sets of cousins that own thrift stores all across town.”

“Well, actually,” Jerry replies eagerly, “Jason owns a 7-11 , but the trend still works apparently. Anyway, North talks about you a lot. It’s nice to meet you!”

Jerry has an extremely pleasant demeanor that Markus thinks he’d like more if not for the pounding in his skull. Despite that, he forces a smile and holds out a hand, which Jerry eagerly shakes. “Yeah? How’d the two of you meet?”

North shrugs. “I honestly just happened upon this store one day. Another day, I ended up at Jeffrey’s store, and I honest-to-god thought this crazy fucker ran both stores! Turns out he and his three cousins are just damn near identical.”

“Jason has one ear piercing, though,” Jerry adds with a laugh. “But we’re a closely-knit family, and North has kind of become a part of that, you know? Anyway,” he gestures about him, “have a look around. If you see something you like, I’ll give you a discount.”

Markus nods in understanding. “Thanks, Jerry.”

Despite shopping having been North’s idea, she continues to chat with Jerry while Markus walks the store. It’s got some pretty standard thrift store merchandise—shoes and clothes and random toys from the nineties. Signs proclaiming that all sales are final adorn nearly every section. Markus breaches all of that though, in favor of a book he finds at the very front of the reading section.

It’s got a quarter on the front cover, and it’s in near-mint condition. It brags about containing over a hundred different coin tricks, and all Markus can think about is how Connor had been flicking that coin back and forth on one of their first nights hanging out. He had been such a natural at it, and seeing this book makes Markus wonder if he knows any of the tricks inside. He picks it up.

_“Can I borrow this?”_

Markus remembers that dream all-too-well. The one where Connor had been inside Carl’s home with him and asked him to lend him the book with no words on it. Looking back, Markus realizes with some amusement that said dream had been a metaphor. One of Connor’s favorite things. And this metaphor had been for the fact that Connor—or at least, the imaginary Connor in Markus' dreams—had wanted to learn more about Markus and his story.

The real Connor had seemed to want to do the same thing. Can all that really be a front?

Remembering Carl’s home reminds Markus of the time he had brought Connor by to play piano for him. How Connor had watched him with so much awe. The way he had claimed that the painting in the studio was one of Markus' works.

Another repressed memory had kept Markus from realizing that Connor was right. He really had painted that picture. Or well, he had finished it. But at least on some level, Connor had been right all along. Markus owes him an apology for getting as defensive as he had.

On instinct, he pulls his phone from his pocket and checks it. Not surprisingly, there are no new messages. Even Leo seems to have decided not to get involved for a bit. Markus doesn’t blame him, really. This whole situation is chaotic, and Leo has enough he’s trying to deal with, himself.

Markus lets out a sigh and locks his phone, pocketing it once more.

“Markus!”

He turns to acknowledge the voice calling out his name, and he can’t help but smile. Kara stands, an old _The Lion King_ VHS tape in her hand. She’s by herself this time, but she smiles widely when he recognizes her.

“I haven’t seen you since the trampoline park. How’ve you been?” Her gaze falters before he can answer, however, when she gets a good look at his face. “You don’t look like you’re feeling well.”

Markus knows exactly what she sees. He saw it in the mirror earlier. His tired eyes and the somewhat paled complexion in his face. He had gone outside in sunglasses for a reason.

“I’m okay,” he responds, shaking his head. “Just a little hungover.”

Kara laughs nervously. “I thought you didn’t like drinking.”

Markus shrugs. “I have one every now and then. I’m a bit of a sucker for southern comfort and eggnog. Last night was just southern comfort, though. A…okay, a lot of it.”

Kara frowns. “You sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah, of course,” Markus replies, waving a hand dismissively. “I mean, it’s nothing like _that._ I don’t have a drinking problem. I just…I guess I’m having trouble sleeping. I drank last night to help get me there.”

Kara frowns again. “That’s a slippery slope, Markus. Is this because of your father?”

Markus' cheeks flush a little at that question. He’s a little embarrassed to admit that Carl for once doesn’t have a hand in his current state of depression.

“No, it’s…ah, Jesus.” He scratches nervously at the back of his head. “Do you have a few minutes?”

During his first year of college, Markus had had a crush on a sophomore girl from one of his classes. He had known about the birds and the bees and had been intimate before, but this girl had intimidated him. Made him nervous in a way that he hadn’t known how to handle. Markus had been used to partners who were just as interested in him as he was them.

He had confided in Kara about his crush, and she had talked him through it. In the end, the girl rejected him because she was already in a long-distance relationship, but the story sticks with him when he thinks about Kara.

Which is why he has no problem opening up to her right now. They step outside and take a seat on a nearby bench, and Markus tells her everything. About how he and Connor met. About their blossoming relationship. About Connor helping him to paint again. He spends a good ten minutes from beginning to end, and leaves off at the present.

Which is where he gets embarrassed.

“I know he’s coming back,” he explains, shaking his head. “But I don’t know when, or how things are gonna be with us when he does. He got blindsided by a lot, and it seems to have really affected the way he views human nature.”

Kara smiles softly. “You’re very strong to let him have his space.” She leans forward, her elbows resting on her knees, and steeples her fingers together. “I don’t think you need to be the big knight in shining armor who saves him. He told you he needs to deal with things on his own, and it says a lot that you’re allowing him to do that.”

“He’s afraid I’m going to give up on him like he feels his mother did,” Markus reminds solemnly. “And I want him to know I’m still here, but I don’t want him to feel pressured to come back until he’s ready. But…god, I miss him. He helped me get through one of my roughest times, you know?”

Kara’s smile doesn’t fade. “He means a lot to you, then.”

Markus nods quickly. “Going to sleep without him there _sucks._ Waking up by myself is even worse, because then I know it wasn’t all just a dream. He told me his instinct was to cut and run. I’m so afraid he’s going to get so scared of me running away that he’s going to do it first. This guy is…impeccable at falling off the radar. If he wants to disappear, he knows how to do it.”

Kara ponders those words for a moment. “Well, it’s good to remember that if he’s scared of you leaving, he doesn’t want to lose you. That said, it’s probably safe for you to check in with him every now and then.”

Markus cocks his head.

“Nothing too crazy,” Kara corrects. “Send him a text message every so often like you say you have been. Make sure he knows you’re here for him when he’s ready. If he cares for you like you care for him, he’ll appreciate it.”

Markus sighs around a solemn smile. “You’re right. Thanks, Kara.”

Kara nods. “And when he does come back, you make sure he knows that you love him even when he’s not trying to be beautiful.”

Markus’ smile brightens a little, and he holds his arms out to offer her a hug, before he realizes his right hand is still occupied. Immediately, he tenses and stands bolt upright. “Shit! I forgot to pay for this!” He turns his focus to Kara. “Thanks again for hearing me out. I’ll talk to you soon?”

Kara, laughing, nods her head. “I sure hope so! It’s good to see you again, Markus.”

\--- --- --- --- ---

North is a ‘tough love’ kind of person. Not in the sense that she would bludgeon you into knowing she cares about you, but in the way that she doesn’t back down once she’s got her mind set on making you feel better. So while Markus hadn’t initially wanted to get out and do anything, he’s been forced to, and he feels better for it. He knows that in the end, she only wants best for him anyway.

On top of that, he got to talk to Kara. He doesn’t see her often, but he also won’t forget the way she took care of his father in his absence. She’s always been a good person, and it shows in just about everything she does. Getting to open up to her has taken a weight off of Markus’ shoulders that he doesn’t think even having talked to his father would have removed. Sometimes, you just have to talk to the right person, he supposes. And the right person isn’t always someone you speak to every day.

He thinks about everything that’s happened since his father passed away. All the dreams and the hallucinations, and Connor’s involvement in them upon his appearance into his life. The book Markus had dreamed about Connor borrowing…the mention of the book later on, as well as him picking up that fish from all his hallucinations. Markus’ mind truly believes that Connor is a key part in his recovery, and while that’s not a healthy way to look at things, he’s not prepared to let go of the thought.

Lucy had said it herself—he’s bad at letting go of things.

Upon arrival back at his apartment, Markus gets an idea. He races to his room, grabbing the sketchbook with Connor’s image in it, and once he’s back in the living room, he scoops up his keys.

North is in the middle of grabbing a Powerade from the fridge when he passes by. He hears her scoff. “…You’re eager all of a sudden.”

Markus spins and faces her, his keys jangling in his hand with the jarring movement. “You know I love you, right?”

North cocks an eyebrow. “I’d fuckin’ hope so, Markus.”

“No, I mean really.” Markus smiles.

“Oh, honey…” North mocks, cracking a jokingly pitiful smile his way in return. “You know I don’t bat for that team.”

“That’s why, right there.” Markus laughs. “You and your stupid sense of humor and your tendency to drag me through hell in order to get me to the other side. No, I wasn’t about to become a drunkard and drown in my sorrows every single night…but I wasn’t exactly feeling all that great. My head is pounding right now!”

North frowns deeply. “Markus…are you okay? You’re smiling about a hangover migraine. You’re really worrying me, here…”

“I’m fine, I promise.” Markus shakes his head. “I just…I guess that breath of fresh air you forced me to go out and get was just what I needed. Connor’s not going away, and when he gets back, things are going to be fine. I just need to make sure _he_ ’s okay.”

“O…kay…” North responds, still looking a little worried. “So where are you headed?”

“Dad’s house,” Markus answers. “I need to give him some closure.”

\--- --- --- --- ---

Rearranging is hard, and doing so by yourself is even harder. Markus doesn’t remember how the process of getting his bed up the stairs, around that thin balcony, and to his room had gone, but getting it back down is a metric fuckton of work. Markus is too afraid that he’ll topple over the edge like Leo had so many years ago, to the point where he gives in and takes the bed apart altogether. He drags it down the stairs, piece by piece, and then collapses onto the mattress before he even has the chance to put it on the box springs.

He’s sweating, panting, and thirsty. But he’s got a lot of work to do. Markus hasn’t been to the gym since his father passed away, and he’s feeling every single day of lost muscle training in this very moment.

With some effort, Markus rights himself and goes for a bottle of water from the fridge. The kitchen isn’t fully stocked, but because Markus and Leo both sometimes come over to visit, there are a few drinks and snacks lying around.

Markus stuffs a stale cookie into his mouth, dusts his hands off, and gets back to work. He finds that as soon as he puts some music on and connects his phone to a speaker, he can get motivated to work that much more quickly.

He’s got the bed put together in the studio and has moved the different paint supplies around for the most part when _I Believe in a Thing Called Love_ comes on. Markus is by himself in the studio, the curtains wide open. He’s got nothing but a white sleeveless tank top and gray knee-high cargo shorts on, and he’s covered in sweat, but he can’t help himself.

For the first time in months, Markus lets loose. Snatches up a paintbrush from a nearby table and just belts. Nobody can resist the upbeat, jaunty tunes of The Darkness’ one-hit wonder from the early 2000s. Markus remembers being dragged onto the dance floor by Josh his senior year in high school and singing this entire song word-for-word.

Apparently, he still knows the lyrics by heart.

What he’s not ready for is another set of vocals to join in. The song is still blasting at full-volume when Markus hears someone else singing. He wheels around mid-chorus and sees his brother, clutching the coat hanger from the foyer in both hands. He mocks playing guitar along the body of the object, and sings freely as he dances his way into the studio.

For a split second, Markus thinks he might be embarrassed. But then he realizes that Leo doesn’t give a shit, and the next thing he knows, they’re jamming together. Smiling, laughing, belting as best as their lung capacity will allow. Leo hops onto the bed that Markus has finally put together and air-solos on his makeshift guitar, while Markus cheers him on. And then, when the lyrics start up again, Markus joins him on the mattress.

By the time the song ends, they’re both gasping for air around loud belly laughter, tears prickling at their eyes. Leo hops off the bed and jogs over to the table where Markus’ phone rests, pausing Spotify. Still laughing, he jabs a finger in the direction of the bed.

“Okay, man,” he teases, “I get it. You’re going through a rough patch right now. Your boyfriend’s giving you the cold shoulder and you’re trying to get your painting shit back together. But what the _fuck_ kind of self-care is installing your bed in the studio?”

Markus outright laughs. “It’s not self-care. It’s a surprise for Connor.”

Leo’s teasing smile fades. “You’re not gonna get frisky in the studio, are you?” He wrinkles his nose. “That’s gross as hell and probably too much information for me as your brother to be taking in.”

“No, it’s not like that.” Markus is still laughing.

“Says the guy who migrated an entire fucking bed downstairs for his boyfriend,” Leo retorts. “Whatever grand gesture you’re trying to make here is going to get his dick all weepy and then you’re not going to be able to stop yourself and…god, eww. Can’t you just bang it out on a table or something like normal people do?”

“I’m telling you, it’s not like that,” Markus argues. “This is still my dad’s studio. I can’t in any sane state of mind put my father and my sex life with Connor into the same headspace.”

Leo raises an eyebrow. “It still doesn’t explain why you’ve got a whole ass bed in here.”

Markus shrugs. “Help me finish moving things around and I’ll tell you.”

And he does. While they rearrange canvases and tables and shelves until the studio has more space with the bed in it, Markus comes clean to Leo about his plan. They work together for hours, until Markus has everything set exactly the way he wants it. He’s long-since showered and changed into a new short-sleeved hoodie and black shorts and is hard at work painting when Leo returns to him.

“Food,” Leo tells him plainly as he places a bag of Thai food onto the table at one side of the studio. Markus already has some basic strokes on a new canvas finished when Leo greets him. “So…how are you gonna get him out here?”

“I’ll text him,” Markus answers easily enough. “Whenever he’s ready, he’ll reply.”

He doesn’t have to be looking at Leo to feel the weight of the deadpan stare his brother is fixing him with.

“You’ll text him,” Leo replies blandly. “That’s what you’ll do. You rearrange Dad’s goddamn studio into a glorified bedroom and you’re telling me you’re going to text him. You’re really just gonna sit here with your thumb up your ass, waiting for him to feel like texting you back?”

“I’ll be painting while I wait.”

“You have five seconds to grab your keys or I’m kicking your ass.”

Markus glances over at his brother. “Look, I’m just—”

“Nope.” Leo’s eyebrows are so high up that they look like they might make contact with his hairline soon. “No. No fucking way, I’m not taking that shit answer. Get off your ass and _go get him_.”

“I can’t, Leo.” Markus frowns. “Connor asked for his space. It’s been one day.”

Leo still doesn’t look convinced. “Markus…what’s one plus four?”

Markus frowns. “…Five?”

“Good,” Leo replies, removing the paintbrush from Markus’ hand and setting it aside. As he’s taking the palette away, he continues speaking. “So you’re not just horrible at math. Because last I recalled, you and Connor haven’t been together for five days. One shittily-executed conversation doesn’t count, and if you think the guy doesn’t miss you, you’re an idiot. I’ve had two or three solid moments where I’ve seen the two of you interact, and even I can tell he’s absolutely batshit gaga for you.”

Markus thinks about what Kara said. About how he should keep his distance and give Connor time to respond. Even though Markus wants to go rushing out there and sweep Connor off his feet just to bring him here and show him what he’s done, Connor needs time.

“Even so, I—”

“Look, at the very least, call the guy up instead of texting him. If he doesn’t answer or says ‘no’, then you can wait.” Leo crosses his arms. “All I know is that I didn’t just move all this shit around with you for you to wait indefinitely for your guy to come back. Now,” He makes his way to the bag on the table and withdraws a white foam container, extending it out toward Markus, “eat your food.”

Markus stares at his brother for a few moments, before he accepts the container, and then a bag of plastic silverware. He finds himself wondering when he and Leo had gotten to this point. When had Leo started seeing him as a brother and treating him like family? Not only had he helped Markus out just because he could, but he’s really over here dishing out advice and everything.

Markus can’t help but feel warmer at that thought alone.

Either way, he obeys. Once he’s had his fill of Thai food, he places the container in the fridge and dials Connor’s number. He’s immediately not sure what to expect. Maybe Connor will answer, or maybe he’ll send the call to voicemail. Maybe he’ll ignore it altogether. But he and Connor aren’t enemies, are they? They’re not broken up or anything. Connor just needs his space.

Needless to say, Markus’ stomach does a backflip when he hears the receiver pick up and Connor’s voice greeting him on the other side.

 _“Markus?”_ He sounds concerned. _“Is everything alright?”_

It’s been a day since Markus last heard that voice, and he still feels warm all over when he hears it again. He smiles despite himself. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I just wanted to check up on you. How’re you doing?”

 _“You’re sweet,”_ Connor responds. Markus can almost picture him leaned up against a counter or sat on the edge of the bed as he talks. He can almost see that soft profile and those perpetually-curious eyes staring down at the ground in front of him. _“But I’m fine. Listen…I’m sorry I got so upset with you yesterday. You were just trying to help, and I—”_

“No, you were right,” Markus quickly clarifies. “If a situation ever arises like that again, I’ll make sure to run it by you first.”

Connor laughs softly, and Markus melts. Even in his current emotional state, Connor still sounds so damned good. How is Markus supposed to see beneath all his beautiful when he just keeps finding _more_? _“Thanks, Markus. I don’t think I deserve you sometimes.”_

“That’s my line,” Markus answers. He realizes his voice is nervous, so he’s quick to get to the subject at hand. “So…there’s something I’d really like to show you. You don’t have to come back and stay with us or anything, but can I come pick you up? Just for a few hours?”

Connor hesitates, making it very obvious that staying with Elijah has become something of a comfort zone for him. However, he eventually sighs and chuckles softly over the phone. _“Do I at least get to know where I’m going?”_

“My dad’s house,” Markus answers easily. “Trust me, you’ll love this.”

 _“Okay, okay,”_ Connor is still laughing, _“you win, Markus. Come get me.”_

“You got it. I’m on my way.”

When he hangs up the phone and turns around, he sees Leo staring at him. There’s something of a knowing smile on his face, as he crosses his arms and shifts his weight to one hip. “I fuckin’ told you, brother. That said, I’m going to take my food and leave. You enjoy your sappy romantic evening with your dude, okay?”

Markus smiles. “Thanks, Leo.” He moves to grab his keys from the counter, but Leo doesn’t move from the doorway. Markus can’t pass with him standing there like that, so he frowns. “…What?”

Leo shakes his head. “I’ve just been, uh, I’ve been thinking.” He raises his hands and shoulders in a shrug, looking around him. “Maybe you should get the house.”

“…Excuse me?”

“I mean, I love this place. It’s a huge part of what Dad left behind, but I don’t plan on settling down any time soon, and most of the space here was made for an artist. Gav and I are just fine in our apartment. So long as you still let me come by and see the place from time to time, I don’t see what harm there would be in you having it.”

“Leo…”

“I’m serious, Markus.” Leo frowns. “Just…let me have a bigger choice of the rest of his shit or something. It’s just starting to look like you and this guy of yours may need a place in the future, and you love it here. We can work out the rest later, but the house is yours…okay?”

“I dunno, Leo.” Markus crosses his arms. “You’re really just going to give it up?”

“I told you,” Leo reminds him, “this house feels like it’s yours more than it’s mine. I laid claim to the hanging decorations on the ceiling because they hold sentimental value to me. I’ll pick out the other shit that’s important to me, and we’ll go from there. I think Dad would have wanted it that way.”

Markus frowns at him, but he decides not to argue. “That’s…very big of you, Leo. Thank you.”

Leo scoffs. “Whatever. Now, go get your man.” He steps aside, gesturing for Markus to go.

Markus’ heart leaps as he obeys. The thing is, he and Connor are still so early in their relationship that he’s got a lot of thinking to do about the whole situation, but there very well may be a future where he and Connor decide to live together. And in Carl’s house…? That’s a dream come true. Nearly every happy memory from Markus’ past lives here.

He supposes he has a lot of thinking to do on the matter.

\--- --- --- --- ---

Strangely, there’s no awkwardness when Markus shows up to get Connor. His boyfriend climbs into the passenger’s seat of the car as if everything is normal, and he even smiles and greets Markus with a kiss. It occurs to Markus that Connor’s disappearance hadn’t ever been intended to be a permanent thing, and after nearly a week of having time to himself, Connor seems to be back in better spirits. He still looks a little on the tired side, and his eyes still hold some weight of sadness to them, but he definitely looks like he needed the break.

The first half of the drive is silent. Connor sits with his head propped up against the passenger’s side window, his gaze focused out on the way the world speeds by around them. He’s wearing the hoodie Markus gave to him, and Markus feels compelled to reach out and turn down the air conditioner at the sight of him like that. But he still looks just as adorable in it as the first time Markus saw him, and it kind of fits with the moment, so Markus neither says nor does anything about it.

Instead, he speaks up about something else entirely.

“Did you get the chance to talk to Richard?”

Connor shakes his head. “I asked Elijah to send him away.” He releases a soft sigh. “I’m not going to avoid him forever. Chances are, I’ll see him when we go visit Mom, so I’ll deal with it then.”

Markus’ heart leaps. “You still want me to come along?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Connor jeers, nudging Markus’ thigh, “of course I want you along. How in the hell else am I going to survive the next handful of days without you?”

Markus laughs softly. “In my defense, it was kind of hard to tell. Over the course of the past week, your life has changed significantly. I know this isn’t the same as what happened to me, but when Dad died, I stopped existing as myself for months.”

“To be honest,” Connor responds around a shrug, “I don’t know what’s going to happen. A part of me thinks that things are going to feel strangely normal, and that all this nervousness I’ve felt ever since I decided to go visit her is going to be for nothing. But there’s another part of me that dreads the inevitable moment when she tells me I disappointed her. And looking back, I suppose I did. Maybe there had been a better way to handle things.”

Markus opens his mouth to speak, but Connor cuts him off. “It’s not like I can change anything I did, and it’s not like it’s anyone else’s fault. I’m not even sure if it’s _mine_ at this point. People are so quick to place blame, when maybe, this was just the way it was supposed to be. If I hadn’t cut her off like I had, I’d probably have never become as close to Daniel as I am, and I’d probably have never ended up living the life that I have right now. The life I love. I definitely wouldn’t have gotten the chance to meet you. I just needed some time to figure all of that out. Thank you for bearing with me.”

Markus nods slowly. “…yeah, Con. Absolutely. I’m honestly impressed with you coming to that realization on your own. You’re so strong without even realizing it. And none of that is a front.”

Connor scoffs to himself. “I don’t know about that. I grew up learning how to make myself look good for other people. It’s difficult to tell where the act stops and the real me begins.”

Markus tries to come up with a response to that, but when he has nothing, he instead reaches out and takes Connor’s hand into his own. Connor doesn’t look away from the window, but his response comes in the form of him turning his hand palm-up and lacing his fingers with Markus’.

When they arrive, Markus releases Connor’s hand just long enough for them to exit the vehicle, and then he finds it again and uses his grip to guide his boyfriend inside. The house chimes out its usual greeting, and Markus smiles like he does every time. One day, maybe it’ll greet Connor, too.

He doesn’t speak as he leads Connor through the foyer and the living room. He heads straight for the studio.

The setup is simple enough. The bed sits up against the wall at the end, where Carl’s biggest portrait still hangs on the wall. It’s an unfinished painting with a heavy dusting of blues and greens and grays, and it depicts the face of a man. Markus had never quite known what to think of it, and at one point, Carl had told him that he was starting to get too old to paint. He’d called himself ‘an old man clinging to his brushes’, and those words had broken Markus’ heart. He’ll never have it in him to remove that painting from the wall.

The painting is so big that the headboard doesn’t obstruct it. If anything, the painting serves as a background for the positioning of the bed. A few feet in front of the bed stands that canvas, with those few brush strokes painted onto it. Nearby is the table, where Leo had placed Markus’ palette and brush, and a few paint cans litter it as well. Behind them is the sink, with all the other art supplies moved off to create enough space.

Connor gawks at Markus, who just smiles back.

“Take your pants off.”

If there’s such a thing as gawking harder, Connor is doing it right now. “Markus, is now the best—”

“Not like that,” Markus realizes aloud, raising his hands in surrender. “Like you did when you first modeled for me.”

“Wait…you’re going to paint me right now?”

Markus laughs softly. “I guess it’s time for me to confess that this surprise is a little unfinished.” He gestures with one hand toward the canvas with its few lines on it. “I had initially planned to have this thing done before you came in. It was supposed to show you that I think I’m ready to try and paint again. See, the thing is…” He removes the unfinished painting from the easel and strides to a corner, placing it down on the ground and picking another up. It’s the same one Connor had seen on the day they’d come to Carl’s house for Markus to play for him.

“You were right about this.” He steps back, his hands resting on his hips, and he looks proud for a moment. “I didn’t remember painting it at the time, but when you’d pointed out that this one was one of my works, you were right. It had started out as Carl’s—just a few undefined lines—but on the night before we put him on comfort care, I came home and painted this.”

Connor moves forward, brushing his fingers across the canvas. “Markus…”

“It’s funny, how life works,” Markus explains. “I’m good at painting, but I’ll never measure up to Dad’s work. He spent years trying to tell me that art isn’t about replicating the world around you. That it’s about conveying a message. There’s always something to be learned from a painting, because the image comes from the mind of someone. The whole reason I haven’t been able to paint this entire time is because I’ve been trying to copy the world around me, and that’s kind of hard to do when you can’t see how beautiful everything is.”

He faces Connor. “And then you came into the picture. You stubbornly insisted I get to work, and you went so far as to strip yourself down into my sweater and your underwear and take a natural pose on my bed. We barely knew each other, and you went out of your way to get me back on my feet. And I’ve been so stupid to not see the way the color is returning to my world every day thanks to that one little gesture.”

Connor looks sad again, but it’s a different kind of sad. Markus can’t exactly put an explanation to why he feels that way, but he knows it’s not the same as the way he had broken down in front of Markus a day earlier.

“I don’t recall if I ever mentioned the fish in my dreams to you, but it’s been one of the more repetitive themes.” Markus tucks his hands into his pockets and turns his gaze to the canvas he had placed in the corner. “At first, I dreamed that it was on the ground next to its aquarium. I’d try to pick it up, but it would always bounce out of my hand and land on the ground. I would keep trying, but it’d keep falling. It got more and more damaged each time, until it was close to death, and then I would wake up. It scared the hell out of me, mostly because I didn’t understand it.”

Connor frowns, waiting for Markus to continue.

“And then, after you showed up and I started opening up to you, the dreams started to feature memories. I’d see my dad, or Leo, and then later on, you. Eventually, my biological parents. The fish was always a theme. I could never seem to save it.” He shakes his head. “And then, I knocked myself out on the day that Leo pissed me off, and I dreamed of everything.” He recalls having told Connor most of the details of that day, but he had intentionally withheld the last part.

“You showed up at the end of it. You picked up that fish, and you did it flawlessly. Looking back, I’m sure that was my brain’s way of telling me that you’d helped me to get back onto my feet. And that unfinished painting over there?” He gestures with one hand to the corner. “I put paint on a canvas again. I can _do this_. But I want you here to see me do it, because it’s thanks to you that I’m even where I am right now.”

Markus faces Connor, and without hesitating, he pulls his boyfriend into his arms and buries his nose in his hair. “I have to let my dad go. I have to let the past with my parents go. These are things that have already happened, and they’re things I can do nothing about. And I feel like if I show you that you’ve helped me get to that point, I can prove to you that you and I can get through _anything_ together.”

He pulls back and smiles, running his fingers through the hair on the side of Connor’s head. “It’s my turn to be strong for you. And I don’t want to stop there. This _show_ you think you’ve put on to make me like you? I don’t think it’s a show at all. I think you didn’t want me to let you go, so you acted all pretty and mysterious, but then you _were_ all pretty and mysterious. I think the you that you thought you were pretending to be blended in with the _real_ you. I’ve seen you cry, and I’ve seen you get angry. I’ve seen you feel frustrated that some grumpy old cop you care deeply about is going to off himself one day. I’ve seen you behind all that acting, and I _love_ all of it. I love _you_. The fact that you’re going to let me come with you to see your mother makes me want to give you the same strength you’ve given me. We’re in this together.”

He steps back and nods back toward the bed. “So, get your ass over there and let me finish this painting so I can prove a point.”

Connor has fallen silent. He’s just staring at Markus like he’s grown a second head. His eyes are wide and his mouth hangs open, and it occurs to Markus in that moment that he had just dropped the ‘L’ word without even trying.

_Shit._

Connor bursts out laughing there, though. He shakes his head, giggling away like Markus had just said the funniest thing in the world, and then he raises a hand, pointing a single finger at Markus. “Okay, but when you get to talking like that, the last thing I want to do is sit still for you. Right now, what I really want to do is make out.”

“Excuse me?” Markus laughs back.

“You’re so stupid sometimes!” Connor wipes laughter-induced tears from the corners of his eyes. “You’re a hopeless romantic, and it took you a whole verbal monologue to explain everything to me because of it, and god, Markus, I love you so much for it.” He smiles up at his boyfriend. “I’ll pose for you, but you just generated so much sexual tension being the big sap you are that I’m going to need to deal with that, first. So, I’m only going to sit on that bed if you join me on it first.”

Markus shakes his head abruptly. “We’re not having sex in my dad’s studio.”

Connor raises both eyebrows. “You literally moved this bed in here. We’re having sex on it.” He swoops in close and curls an arm around Markus’ waist, before he presses a kiss to his jaw. “You just confessed your love to me. I demand physical intimacy.”

Markus shivers into the contact. “O…On the couch. My dad practically lived in this room. C’mon…” He tips Connor’s head up and cups it in both hands, stealing a much-needed kiss. “Let’s go to the living room. We can get as crazy as you want in there.”

Connor scoffs. “Fine, whatever.” He nips at Markus’ lip. “But I haven’t been laid in almost a week, so let’s get to it.”

Markus just laughs.

Things almost feel normal. In fact, they feel more normal than they had before Connor’s news had sent things spiraling sideways. Almost as if this is the way things are supposed to be for them. And as Markus guides Connor back to the living room and pulls him back onto the couch with him, he thanks his lucky stars for every second of it.

Connor has a lot to let go of. His guilt for ceasing communication with Amanda, his bitterness toward Richard, and his fear of disappointing his mother…he has to get past those things. He has to move toward them to get away from them, and Markus is going to be there to help him do so.

Carl would be proud. And even though Markus hasn’t forgotten his father, he has finally put him to rest. He knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he can paint again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit guys
> 
> holy shit holy shit holy shit
> 
> this fic is probably like a handful of chapters away from being done. i literally cannot believe i've carried it as long as i have. and it's thanks to all of your kind words and support. all the comments and kudos and bookmarks, and holy shit, this thing is still going! you guys have no idea how much i appreciate you sticking with this story for as long as you have. thank you so, so much. i love you all ; w;


	15. Mama's Broken Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, this thing was last updated in like late May/Early ass June, and I'm just now posting an additional chapter. I'm seriously so sorry to keep you guys waiting. I'll talk more about it in the endnotes.
> 
> But I want to mention now, that there's a reference to a really, REALLY good videogame in here. The game is called 'Little Nightmares', and it's in the same vein of Limbo/Inside, with that really desolate, lonely feeling to it. But it's also got a horror element to it, and let me tell you, the ending is so satisfying. 
> 
> So that's my gush about that. I am so sorry to keep you guys waiting for so long, but I'm hoping this chapter makes up for it! There's a lot of cute/sweet moments to balance out all the angst.
> 
> Enjoy!

Markus has an entire laundry list of things he has learned to adore about Connor. He loves the way those warm eyes remind him of honey tea. He loves how said honey tea eyes always seem to be filled with a youthful, almost naïve sense of wonder. He loves that Connor, despite his own obvious internal conflict, seems capable of providing support to Markus no matter what.

He loves the way Connor smiles that facetious little smile of his when he feels like fooling around, and how not minutes after it’s all said and done, he seems to bounce right back to his normal, strangely wise self. He loves how Connor wears all the shirts and pajamas he’s lent to him—how they all seem to swim around his more slender frame.

And god, he loves the way Connor looks when he’s sleeping peacefully in the car. Markus has never been one to fall asleep in a vehicle. He’s usually too enamored by everything that’s passing by them as they drive. And if he’s not looking out the windows, he’s the one driving.

Connor is clearly used to being a passenger. He always tucks himself into the very corner of his seat without much effort and falls asleep with his temple on the glass. Despite how uncomfortable it obviously is, he always makes himself look so very at peace. Markus wonders if he was ever allowed to do this when riding with Amanda. How controlling _was_ his mom? Will she still be the same way once he and Connor get there?

So yeah, they’re still going to see Amanda. Connor had made the split second decision to resume their trip as planned after Markus had surprised him in his father’s studio. He’s still concerned about it, and every now and then, Markus definitely sees the ghosts of his past with Richard haunting somewhere behind the shadows cast by his eyebrows.

One day, Connor and Richard will get along. Probably.

Maybe.

Not likely.

But then again, maybe not all family members are _meant_ to get along. The strange birth of an actual friendship between Markus and Leo could easily be interpreted as a fluke, and it probably shouldn’t have happened. But it’s definitely taken some weight from Markus' shoulders.

Perhaps, though, Connor could find some closure in speaking with his mother about the issue. In getting a direct answer, maybe he could prove to himself that the unfortunate chain of events that had occurred isn’t his fault in any way. Markus has absolutely voiced this to Connor, who has blown it off every time. Markus has never pushed the issue.

The good news is, they’re both still going. Richard is probably already back in Nola, waiting. Will they all be staying in the same house? Even though the circumstances are…awkward, Markus definitely wouldn’t feel right telling Richard to leave while he and Connor are there. Connor, on the other hand, may have a slightly more aggressive opinion on the matter. The two still haven’t spoken.

Nola is roughly a four-hour drive from Detroit, and Markus has been on the road for all of an hour and a half when Connor wakes up. They’d left relatively early in the morning, so Markus isn’t surprised that his boyfriend had fallen asleep so early into the drive, but when he wakes up, he turns his head to glance over at Markus, and Markus doesn’t even need to look away from the road to know he’s being watched.

“You weren’t asleep for long,” Markus tells him before he can speak up, and he yawns loudly in response, stretching. Markus takes a moment to look over at him, and he can’t help but admire the way Connor’s shirt raises a little, exposing some of his stomach as he brings his arms high up mid-stretch. “Feel better?”

“I think so,” Connor answers around the tail end of his yawn. “I doubt I’ll be sleeping much more. I’m starting to feel nervous.”

“I don’t blame you,” Markus replies easily, shrugging his shoulders. “Meeting your mom for the first time in a long time…that’s a big deal.” He doesn’t dare bring up Richard. He doesn’t want to make Connor any more uncomfortable than he already is.

“I’ve only been to Nola once,” Connor says as he straightens himself back up into his seat. “It’s small—the population is just under five thousand. But I don’t know my way around there, and I don’t know my mom anymore. I’m not sure what I’m going to run into.”

Markus frowns and reaches a hand out, placing it atop Connor’s knee. “Hey…that’s why you’ve got me. I’m going to be here as little or as much as you need me to be. If you want me to stand by and silently support you, fine. If you want me to hold your hand the entire time, I’m right here. You’ll be okay, Connor. I promise.”

Connor laughs breathily, turning his gaze out the passenger’s side window. “You’re such a hopeless romantic.” Despite those words, Markus feels Connor’s hand close over his own. “I love that about you.”

Is that too romantic of Markus? He doesn’t think so. He just wants to give Connor what Connor has given him all this time. Hell, come to think of it, he hasn’t hallucinated since he’d started painting again. He knows better than to let himself think that’s the end of it, but he also knows Connor has played a vital hand in saving him from himself, so it’s the least he can do to help Connor get through this.

Either way, Connor turns the radio up there and returns his focus to staring out the window. Markus can almost see the deep thought coming off of him in waves. He’s not even paying attention to the music, most likely. He just needs a distraction.

As they’re on the road for another hour, and then another one, and the GPS boasts sixty-four minutes, and then forty-four, Connor suddenly speaks up. He gestures to a big green sign that advertises a gas station at their next exit. “You need to put gas in the car, right? Let’s stop there.”

Markus casts a glance down at his gas gauge. He has more than enough fuel to get them to Nola, but Connor seems to really want to go there, so he shrugs and signals right, taking the exit.

Which is how Markus finds himself backed up against a wall in a locked bathroom with Connor’s mouth on his and his hands roaming his front. Why they’re suddenly making out in a gas station bathroom is beyond Markus, but he finds little need to protest.

“Connor…” Markus chuckles against his boyfriend’s lips, as his breathing picks up. “What the hell?”

“Just really quick,” Connor responds into the kiss.

“This can wait,” Markus replies, despite the fact that he’s not fighting Connor off even a little. If anything, he tips his head in time with Connor as the kiss deepens and fights back a groan when the younger man nips at his lower lip. “Just…just until later tonight.”

“We’re not messing around at my mother’s house,” Connor deadpans, breaking off the kiss. He’s panting as he reaches down to work open Markus’ belt. “I don’t even know how she’s going to react when she meets you. She’s going to watch us like a hawk, and I’m getting sexually frustrated just thinking about it.”

Markus laughs again. Ever since he and Connor had reconnected, they’ve been all over each other. Having sex on the couch in his father’s house had only been the start. They’d come home to Markus’ apartment utterly empty that day, and they’d made good use of their time alone together. Making out in the kitchen, getting handsy in the hallway, fucking shamelessly against the wall right outside of the bedroom because they couldn’t wait.

So it’s no surprise that Connor is like he is right now. Frankly, Markus has learned to come prepared, and Connor knows about it. He doesn’t fight it when his boyfriend slides a hand into his back pocket and withdraws his wallet. He fishes a condom out of it and then returns the wallet to Markus’ pocket, before he steps back. He places the wrapped condom between his teeth and works open his own pants, shoving them down.

“C’mon, Markus…”

And to be honest, how can Markus say no? Even standing in the bathroom of a gas station, where their voices can likely be heard clear as a bell, he can’t resist the way Connor bends over the sink and peers up at Markus through the mirror.

He loves this. Loves how Connor is perfectly calm in most situations, even when he’s going on about being nervous, but when Markus has his fingers inside of him, Connor comes right apart. Face flushed, mouth hanging open and only closing to bite down moans, his back arching as Markus finds his prostate. He takes his sweet time enjoying the glazed-over look Connor gives him as the pleasure makes his mouth fall open and saliva pool at the corners of his lips.

The condom has long-since dropped from Connor’s mouth and is now sitting on the rim of the sink, so Markus seizes it and tears it open with his teeth, eliciting something between a soft laugh and a moan from Connor.

“You tore it open with your teeth. It really _is_ kind of sexy.”

Markus lets out a husky laugh as he rolls it onto himself, and then he lets one hand find Connor’s hip, while the other grips himself, guiding his way to Connor’s entrance. He hisses sharply as he pushes his way inside.

In a way, he loves that Connor persuaded him into this. With his boyfriend all doubled over the sink, one hand gripping the porcelain while the other lays flat on the mirror, Markus can see everything he’s doing to him. He can see the way Connor’s forehead grows a little sweaty from the exertion, how his cheeks flush bright red the more they move, and when Connor’s release finally hits, he can see the way the pleasure wracks his expression. Connor covers his mouth with the hand that had been on the mirror and whimpers into it, the noise dying off into a series of pleasured moans, and when Markus finishes, he buries his own pleasured noises into the space between Connor’s shoulder blades.

As he works to catch his breath, he finds himself thinking that he can’t believe he just fucked his boyfriend in a gas station bathroom, but he doesn’t think much of it and instead pulls out, focusing on getting cleaned up so that the two of them don’t look like they just got it on.

At the very least, Markus notices upon watching Connor fix himself a soda and grab a candy bar, that he looks significantly more relaxed. He’s almost entirely back to that same peaceful state that Markus had met him in on their first night together.

There’s a lot to gain in observing Connor like this. Watching him from the sidelines as he moves about the convenience store and admires certain things on the shelves. He’s something like a kid on Christmas with the way he moves about. It’s clear he doesn’t get out and just go spend money much, because he wants to try all the new flavors available.

As Markus convinces him to settle on just a couple of different things, he can’t help but think just how much he loves this man. This man who is still working to settle into his own life and understand more about himself. This man who, despite all that inner conflict, helped save Markus from himself.

When they’re back in the car, Connor stuffs a peanut butter lovers’ Reese’s cup into Markus’ mouth, and Markus chokes it down and promptly tells him the chocolate lovers’ kind is better, which starts something of a playful argument between the two. They’re pretty much laughing and bantering the entire rest of the drive to Nola.

Nola is a pretty little town that almost seems out of place in Michigan. It gives off a summery vibe, with its pale-salmon brick sidewalks and beachside trails. Everything about Nola brags about the beach off of Lake Michigan, and Markus realizes that despite his lack of interest in swimming, he could learn to enjoy his time out here. Maybe he’ll talk Connor into coming out to the beach with him. The water probably isn’t warm enough to swim in, but it’d be nice to check out the scenery.

The closer they draw to Amanda’s house, the more fidgety Connor gets. His upright posture grows more so, and he spends a great deal of time wringing his hands together. His knees draw into one another, and Markus notices that he’s nibbling at his lower lip nervously. If Markus didn’t know that Connor’s doing it out of anxiety, he might have found it sexy.

Amanda’s house is massive. It sits right along the lake, with a long, concrete driveway that leads up to a sprawling…mansion? Is this a mansion? Sure, Markus grew up in a wealthy household, but Carl had never cared to own a house with more rooms than he needed. Either way, what sticks out to him most is that there seems to be a rounded bay window facing the water on the second floor. He finds it hard to look away from it.

He parks the car underneath a carport and cuts the engine. Turns his focus to Connor, who seems to be looking anywhere but through the windshield. Markus watches him swallow thickly, before he inhales, and then exhales a long sigh.

“Connor—”

“It’s been a long time, is all,” Connor interjects before Markus can respond. He’s tense, visibly so. “I’m not sure what kind of greeting I’m going to walk in to. And Mom was sick, so…”

“It’s okay,” Markus tells him, offering him a soft smile. “It’ll be okay. Your mom wanted you to come visit, remember?”

Connor sighs, turning his head up to look at Markus. He flashes him something of an apprehensive smile. “Yeah. Something like that. Let’s go.”

Markus isn’t sure what to expect as he and Connor follow the sidewalk leading up to the front door. The yard surrounding it is well-landscaped. Markus admires a gathering of roses on a lattice wall that extends out just in front of the porch. As Connor rings the doorbell, he flashes Markus a smile.

“If it’s anything like the way it was when I lived with her, she tends to those roses herself.” He looks almost fondly at them. “She’s always had a green thumb. I had trouble approaching them because I don’t want to get stung by the bees that live around them.”

“Bees won’t bother you unless you bother them first,” Markus reassures.

“I know,” Connor agrees. “but that doesn’t make me any less afraid of them.”

Markus smiles. “I admire her handiwork, though.”

The door opens there and a woman in a long, silken dress greets them. She’s beautiful, with her hair pulled back in a tight updo and full lips. Her brown eyes, while also beautiful, peer down at Connor almost dully. Despite that, she smiles.

“Connor…” she greets warmly, though Markus notices they keep one another at arms' length. He’s not sure if this is just how the dynamic works between them or if it’s because Connor is still reluctant, but he keeps this thought to himself for now. Maybe forever. There are certain aspects of this situation that aren’t really his business.

“Hi, Mom,” Connor responds, his voice strangely calm. He gestures toward Markus. “This is Markus Manfred. He’s my boyfriend.”

Strangely, Markus doesn’t feel concerned about hearing Connor say those words. He doesn’t know if Connor had told her before that they were dating or even that he was coming out to visit with him. He doesn’t know if Amanda even knew about his sexuality before all of this. But at the very least, Amanda doesn’t seem to mind. She looks as peaceful as ever as she turns to regard him. Is there a storm behind those calm eyes? Will Markus learn to fear her like he does rain? Or will she be proof that not all storms are dangerous?

“Manfred?” Amanda raises both eyebrows. “You’re related to Carl Manfred?”

Markus nods, extending a hand out for her to shake. “He was my adoptive father.”

Amanda smiles a little sadly, then reaches out to shake Markus' hand. He notices she has a firm grip. Businesslike. No-nonsense. “I’m so sorry for your loss. In any case, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” She steps aside to let them in.

As they enter the foyer, Markus notices that the house is just as massive on the inside as it is on the outside. It boasts high ceilings, not unlike Carl’s house, and as they enter the living area, Markus observes a second-floor balcony just like that of his father’s living room. It’s much more widespread, however, and there are more doors on the second floor. There’s even a balcony walkway that crosses midway through to reach the other side quickly. A set of double doors up top, just past the crosswalk balcony, is most noticeable. Markus wants to know what lies beyond them.

For now, though, he focuses on the main room. It’s wide open in the middle, with a couch on either side of the room and a piano tucked away in the corner. A massive television screen sits a few yards from one of the couches, but it looks like it hasn’t been used in months. There are shelves with books lining them like a miniature library, but no trinkets. Just books. Books and paintings and a scattered statue here and there.

It’s…intimidating. Markus feels less like he’s in a living room and more like he’s in a ballroom.

“So,” Amanda starts as she moves about the room with her hands tucked in front of her, her steps slow and elegant, “how did the two of you meet?”

Connor laughs nervously. “It’s a long story.”

Amanda turns to face him, her smile bearing that same level of importance as the way she had shaken Markus' hand. “We have time.”

There’s a gap there. Like a missing block out of the foundation of a Lego house. It’s not enough to make the house fall apart, but it’s unnerving. Uncomfortable. Makes Markus feel like there’s a thick tension overshadowing the house. He immediately knows that this is either very normal and toxic for Connor and Amanda, or the time spent apart for them has done more harm than good.

They’re both calm. Their expressions look as if they’re discussing the weather. But Markus, standing between them, almost feels as if the air in the room is shifting violently.

Has it always been this way? Or is this why Connor had chosen to keep his distance all this time? Either way, something is very, very wrong here.

“We met at a bar,” Connor finally responds, clipping every edge of his words in a way that gives off a tense vibe Markus has never felt from him. “His father had died recently, and his friends asked me to keep him company.”

Amanda hums in thought. “And the two of you just hit it off?”

“I told you, it’s a long story,” Connor tries again.

“Yet you haven’t told me the story, yet.” Even when she’s being firm, Markus notices that Amanda’s voice is soft. Even when her words mean nothing and yet bear that scalding edge to them, she still sounds as elegant as she looks. Markus doesn’t want to know what anger sounds like coming from her, so he steps in there.

“Ever since my father passed away, I’ve been struggling to get back on my feet,” Markus explains. He can still feel the tension around him, but there’s a satisfied look on Amanda’s features as it starts to thin somewhat. “Up until very recently, I couldn’t paint anymore.”

“You’re an artist like your father,” Amanda observes warmly, and Markus nods and keeps speaking.

“For a while there, I didn’t think I’d get back to that point.” He moves to take a seat on the couch, and turns his gaze up to Amanda. Not far from her stands Connor, who still looks that same shade of calm-yet-uncomfortable as he had before Markus had started talking. “Dad taught me all I know. When I suddenly couldn’t ask his opinion on any of my work, I took it hard. His advice was like a guiding hand, and just like when my parents died, that guiding hand was suddenly gone.”

Markus doesn’t know if he’s hallucinating or just remembering things again, but he is very suddenly, very vividly aware of his mother’s face, and his father’s smile. Even cancer-stricken, his father had been like a superhero. Markus misses them both.

Either way, he fixes a sad smile onto his lips and speaks up again. “My friends put Connor up to the task of making me better. Paid him to model for me. They thought maybe having a human model might be a change of pace.”

Amanda glances to Connor, who nods slowly as he too takes a seat on the couch, next to Markus.

“Honestly, we didn’t do much work to start with,” Markus continues to explain. “I got a basic sketch done, but…my mind wasn’t quite there yet. But I liked having Connor around, and he liked _being_ around, and the next thing I knew, we were spending all our free time together.”

“Did you ever finish your painting?” Amanda questions. “Of my son?”

Markus shakes his head. “It’s not done. I’m still working on it, but I’m definitely making progress. After being at a standstill for months, I’m finally getting there, and I have him to thank for that.”

Amanda pauses there, humming to herself again, and then turns her focus to Connor. “Well? What about you?”

Connor frowns. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Amanda’s expression is firm—diplomatic, even. “You dropped out of school. What have you been doing ever since?”

Connor opens his mouth to speak, but he lets it fall shut almost immediately afterward. He ponders the question and then looks away, and then turns his focus back to Amanda. “I--"

“Amanda?”

Markus recognizes the voice, but when he sees Richard standing not far from a hallway leading out of the living room, he immediately turns his gaze to Connor.

Connor hasn’t met Richard yet, but the two are nearly identical. Safe for a slight height difference and their eye colors, Connor and Richard look like they could be twins. Markus knows Connor knows immediately who the guy is.

“Richard…” Amanda’s smile oozes warmth when she acknowledges him, and Markus sees Connor tense at that. He stands up almost immediately, and Amanda turns to face him.

“I’m going to get our bags,” Markus tells her. “Connor, show me where we’ll be staying?”

Connor hesitates, but nods quickly and starts back out the door. He’s rushed as he moves, and Markus has to move quickly to keep up with him. He pops the trunk and they grab their things, and then Connor walks briskly inside. They don’t say a word as they pass Amanda and Richard and head straight into the hallway.

Connor leads Markus up a flight of stairs to the right, and to the second floor, where there are a couple sets of doors. Markus thinks the furthest one leads to the balcony, but Connor doesn’t go that way. He takes the door directly before it, to another short hallway, where there are just two doors. Connor takes the first and Markus follows him inside.

Connor’s room is huge, but it’s obvious he never stayed in it more than once. There’s a queen-size bed tucked off in a corner, and an armchair and a television across the room. His bedroom has its own bathroom, and the door hangs wide open. There are no posters and the wall is a bland, bluish gray, but there is a shelf loaded with trophies and medals.

Connor drops his bag on the mattress and beelines for the bathroom. When the door doesn’t shut behind him, Markus follows him in.

Even the bathroom is big. Wide, marble countertops and a massive walk-in shower greet them, but Connor goes straight to the toilet, where his stomach upends everything he’d eaten when they visited the gas station.

Markus has known Connor is nervous, but he hadn’t expected it to be this bad. Connor is a wreck, all doubled over on his knees, heaving pure anxiety, his complexion pale and sweaty. Markus isn’t sure what to do, so for now, he suffices with raising a hand to the middle of Connor’s back and rubbing slow circles. He frowns pitifully down at him.

“Connor…”

“You…You saw it, right?” Connor questions desperately as he glances up at Markus. He’s panting from the exertion his episode has had on him. “You saw the way she looked at me?”

Markus isn’t sure what he saw, to be completely honest. He saw Amanda speak to Connor in a very motherly, yet also clipped way. He saw how her first focus was what Connor had been doing after he’d dropped out of school and cut off ties. These are all natural questions, he thinks, but the way with which she and Connor had regarded one another isn’t. Markus knows that much.

At the same time, he still isn’t sure how to label it. He doesn’t know how Connor and Amanda were before. He’s heard stories, but that’s all he’s got to go on.

“I…I dunno, honestly,” Markus answers softly, as he fishes a washcloth off of a shelf near the sink. He wets it and wrings it out, watching Connor shift away from the toilet and move to lean against the cabinet instead. “Was it not the way she normally looks at you?”

Connor shakes his head. “It’s _exactly_ the way she looks at me. B…But then, she looked at _him_.”

Markus frowns, crouching down in front of his boyfriend. He moves to dab at Connor’s forehead and cheeks. He doesn’t speak, because Connor looks like he wants to.

“She went from borderline lecturing me about my choices to smiling at Richard like _he_ was her son. I haven’t seen that smile since I was a kid, Markus. She’s proud of him. She’s just disappointed in me.”

There are two sides to every story. Markus can see the pain Connor is enduring right now, and his heart aches for him, but he doesn’t know what goes beyond that. He doesn’t know if Amanda cried when Connor left school, or if she spent all this time worrying about him. He recalls Connor telling him that she’s always wanted the best for him, even if it’s in a weird way, but right now, the two look anything but mother and son.

At the same time, Markus wants to rush to Connor’s defense. He can’t imagine the turmoil Connor seems to be facing is unfounded. Everyone makes mistakes, and even someone as incredible as Connor Stern isn’t perfect, but…

Damn it, what does he _do?_

“…Do you want to go home?” Markus decides to ask, reaching a hand out to brush his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair.

Connor shakes his head. “I’ve wanted to go home since before we got here, but I can’t.” He sighs and tips his head into the hand caressing him. “It doesn’t look like it, but I love my mom, and I know she loves me. I feel like I need to confront this whole thing head-on if I ever want to get closure.” He smiles up at Markus, even if it’s a weary, frustrated smile. “You know…walking toward something instead of away from it.”

Markus sighs, and a smile works onto his features. “That’s the spirit. So…what do you want to do?” Richard is down there, and Markus gets the feeling that Connor is avoiding him more than he’s avoiding his own mother.

“I mean,” Connor laughs nervously, shaking his head, “it’s either hide up here for the next few days or go down there and deal with what’s in front of me. Richard can’t be all bad, right?”

“I don’t think he is,” Markus admits honestly, moving to sit down, his legs crossed. “I didn’t get much time to talk to him, and I was really worried about you so I was pretty short with him, but he doesn’t seem all that bad. If you ask me, he’s worried about Amanda above all else.”

Connor nods slowly, though Markus can see the wounded response to those words. He’s Amanda’s son, though, so it makes sense that he’d feel a bit hurt that Amanda seems keen on choosing Richard over him. “I dunno how long they’ve been talking, but he’s probably spent a great deal more time with her than I have, especially as of late. But I can’t know for sure until I go talk to her…to them both.”

Markus watches Connor get to his feet and dust himself off. He rinses his mouth out in the sink, and by the time he faces Markus again, they’re both standing up. “So…bottoms up, I guess?”

When they return downstairs, Amanda and Richard are both seated on the couch, engulfed in conversation. They both look up to regard the two, and Richard smiles.

“Sorry to introduce myself so abruptly,” Richard says, moving to stand up. He approaches Connor and extends a hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Connor.”

Markus watches as Connor stares at the proffered hand for a few moments, before he takes it and gives it a firm shake. “You too, Richard. Thanks for keeping Mom company.”

“She’s not hard company to keep,” Richard responds easily, folding his hands behind his back. “She’s been looking forward to you visiting.”

“I can speak for myself, Richard,” Amanda clarifies calmly, before she joins the three. Markus sees Connor tense, his urge to cut and run likely resurfacing, but he doesn’t move. Which gives Amanda ample time to flash him a curt smile. “Are the two of you hungry?”

Markus learns a few different things over the course of the next couple of hours. The first is that even though Amanda’s house is big enough that she probably needs a maid, she doesn’t have one. Richard has taken charge over cooking for lunch, and the house is apparently too massive for anyone to make too big of a mess anyway. In any case, they’re directed into a big dining room in between the kitchen and living room, where just like out of an old storybook, a massive grandfather clock ticks away. Connor and Markus take one side of the table, while Richard and Amanda have the other. For the most part, they eat in silence, but toward the end of their meal, Amanda speaks up.

“You never answered my question earlier, Connor,” she says calmly as she washes down her meal with a glass of champagne. “What have you been up to since we last spoke?”

Markus notices that Connor seems significantly more calm now. He watches his boyfriend warily as he speaks up. “Mostly working, spending time with my friends.” He sees the almost tired look on Amanda’s face and sighs, before he quickly speaks up. “I know you don’t agree with the choices I’ve made, but I’m happy right now.”

Amanda doesn’t respond immediately. Markus watches her watch Connor carefully, before she rights herself and turns her focus to him instead. She smiles peacefully. “So, you’re in art school, correct?”

Markus and Connor exchange glances, before Markus nods slowly. “Yeah. I’ve only got a semester left, actually.”

“That’s wonderful,” Amanda responds almost warmly, as she takes another swig of her champagne. “Do you have a plan for once you’ve graduated? Traditional art is very difficult to make your big break on.”

To be honest, Markus isn’t in a big hurry when it comes to his career. He doesn’t want to make any risky calls. Perhaps he’ll take commissions for wall murals and simple decorational paint jobs initially, and whenever his name gets out there, he’ll be fine. His half of the inheritance from Carl will keep him afloat until he gets it figured out.

“Though anyone who knows art is familiar with your father,” Amanda adds before Markus can speak up. “I’m sure you’ll have no issues getting started.”

Markus fights back the urge to cringe at that. He doesn’t care to be ‘the son of Carl Manfred’ in a publicity light. He didn’t become passionate about art just so that he could be seen in that light. He wasn’t just… _grandfathered in_. Carl had taught him how to express himself visually in his own way. He had specifically insisted that Markus work on making his art his _own_. He never wanted Markus to follow in his footsteps—he just wanted Markus to have a chance to express himself.

“Mom,” Connor cuts in there politely, “Markus came out here with me for a break from all that. I’m sure the last thing he wants to think about is what he’s going to do with the thing that’s about to become his career.”

Amanda raises an eyebrow at Connor, and then she responds simply, as if she were discussing the day, “A career is important, Connor. Not everyone needs an escape from it.”

Ouch.

Amanda doesn’t pull punches. That’s the next thing Markus learns. Even Richard seems considerably distracted from the conversation in response to those words. Amanda has spoken so harshly that Connor can’t even look at her. Instead, he takes a drink of his water.

Amanda takes that as incentive for her to return her attention to Markus. “Where were we?”

Markus frowns deeply. Would it be easier to just answer her? Or does he need to dig his heels in and defend what Connor said? Connor won’t look up, so he can’t make a guess based on his expression.

“I’ll be fine, I promise,” Markus settles on. “Not everything is set in stone, but it’s not the end of the world. Dad never rushed me into this kind of thing, so I’m afraid it’s just not in my nature to do so, either.”

Amanda raises both eyebrows, before she turns her attention to Richard. “This one is two years out from attending med school,” she explains. “He’s studying to be a surgeon.”

Markus thinks that maybe Amanda means no harm with those words—that discussing achievements and accomplishments is just water cooler talk to her—but he doesn’t like the way Connor seems to recede further in on himself as she starts to explain.

And Connor weathers all of it. He endures how Amanda says she’s certain Richard will ace his MCAT, even if the exam is still years away, and he endures when she starts to explain that she connected with Richard just a few years back. Markus knows Connor feels replaced, and it’s both worrisome and admirable that he keeps it to himself clear through lunch. Connor is visibly jealous of everything that’s being said about Richard, but he doesn’t let it show.

The thing with visiting family is that you’re mostly expected to spend time with them while you’re visiting. From what Connor has told Markus, his intent upon visiting has been to make sure his mother is doing alright health-wise and to see if he can reconcile with her somewhat. It’s difficult to tell if Amanda has any intention to reconcile, or even if she sees something damaged beyond reconciliation. Hell, this may be her version of ‘normal’.

It’d be an extremely unfair, skewed version of it, but Markus doesn’t know her, so he can’t really pass judgment.

Either way, after lunch, Amanda offers to tour them around the house. Richard opts to focus on cleaning up, so it’s just Amanda, Connor, and Markus. She’s calm as she directs them about the second floor.

“Even Connor hasn’t seen the entirety of this house,” Amanda points out as they cross the balcony to the other side of the room. “He visited only once before we lost contact.”

A quick glance at Connor tells Markus that he’s relieved Amanda didn’t call his cutting off ties with her something worse. Even though that had been his own choice and therefore something he considers his own fault, he still doesn’t seem to mind not being called out on it. He’s a good person for that.

“The house is pretty big,” Markus replies calmly, his hands tucked into his pockets as he walks. “I imagine there’s a lot to see. Is it just you here?”

“For the most part, yes,” Amanda answers. “Richard visits often. Sometimes, his parents do. Elijah and Hank come by once in a blue moon, as well.”

“His parents,” Connor repeats, almost timidly. “Do they ever talk about me?”

Amanda flashes Connor a quick glance, before she shrugs her shoulders and pushes open the big double doors that Markus was curious about earlier. They’re led into a room with a glass window that bows outward in a heavily rounded curve. There’s not much in the room—just a couple of lounge chairs and a coffee table. Markus thinks that the room reminds him somewhat of an air-conditioned patio, with a view of the side yard and the beach. He realizes it’s the room he noticed during their drive up to the house.

“I call this room my bubble,” Amanda tells him. “I can see the lake and the beach from here. I often come up here to relax. The lights are dim in here at night, so it’s perfect for getting a good view of the scenery.”

“It’s beautiful scenery even in daylight,” Markus observes as he approaches the rounded window. He thinks that maybe this would be a perfect place to sit and paint. The scenery he had once been so enamored with painting would pale in comparison to this. Amanda truly does have a house right next to paradise, with a view of heaven. No wonder she comes here to relax.

“You could paint it, if you’d like,” Amanda suggests, as if reading Markus’ mind. “I have supplies. I’d love to see your work.”

Markus notices that Connor hasn’t spoken since Amanda outright ignored his question. He frowns, before he shakes his head and turns a polite smile toward her. “Connor was right earlier when he said I came out here for a break. The view is incredible, but I’ll have to paint it another time.”

“Another time,” Amanda reiterates. “I’ll hold you to that. Anyway, you’ve seen your room already, so…” She directs them out of the room with the bubble window and back across the balcony to the side where Connor’s room isn’t far from. “There’s a kitchen up here as well.” She gestures to a door on the right side. “Let me show you the studio.”

“Studio?” Markus questions.

“That’s right,” Amanda replies. “I bought this house particularly for the wide studio space. Connor was very dedicated to his dance and modeling classes, and I wanted him to have plenty of space to practice.”

Connor doesn’t speak again there, and Markus can tell there’s some bitterness in his expression. He keeps it to himself, however, as Amanda opens a set of double doors at the back wall of the room.

The studio is definitely big, and it seems to have been integrated into a sort of multi-purpose room. Markus can clearly make out the space that has been set aside for dance practice, as well as the space where Connor might practice modeling. There’s a runway tiled into the floor, even.

Connor doesn’t look even slightly happy to be here, though. Markus swallows down a lump of anxiety when he glances over at his boyfriend.

Near the dance studio, Markus can see a speaker setup for music, as well as a metronome sitting atop a small table.

_“I hate that rhythm. If there’s somewhere I’m running away from, it’s that sound.”_

If Markus thinks hard enough, he can still picture everything about that night. Connor all bundled up in his thick coat, with the steam rising up from the lid of his drink, staring into the foggy glass of the studio window.

Connor likes dance. Markus has learned this. What he doesn’t like is turning it into training for a job he’s not certain he’s going to like. And last he recalled, Connor had told him his mother had put him into modeling school, which means that any dance he learned wouldn’t even be applied the way he might have wanted it to.

So Markus understands and sympathizes with the fact that Connor doesn’t feel even a little bit comfortable in this room. Amanda, however, waltzes right into it like it’s exactly where she belongs. She looks even more content than she had in the room she’d called her ‘bubble’.

“I come in here often, too,” she tells them as she strides inside, her footsteps echoing on the polished floor. “If I look closely enough, I can almost picture my son practicing his steps.” She inhales slowly and then turns to face Connor, and her expression is softer than Markus has seen ever since they first got here. “Connor…for old times’ sake?”

Connor winces visibly. “Mom…”

“Come on,” Amanda motions to him with a hand, gesturing toward the runway. “I’m sure you’ve got your posing down to muscle memory by now. Please?”

That single finishing word creates a shift in the air so rapidly that even Markus sees it. He sees Amanda’s warm smile, and the way the painful cringe in Connor’s expression gives way to something much more hopeful. His eyebrows turn upward almost pitifully, and like a moth drawn to a flame, he starts toward his mother.

Amanda flashes Markus a confident grin. “Have you ever seen him do this?”

Markus shakes his head. “He’s only posed for me to draw him before.”

“You’re about to fall in love, then,” she tells him simply, and Markus bites back the urge to tell her he’s already done that. Instead, he waits patiently as Amanda guides Connor to an area that’s curtained off. He can faintly hear her muttering things like ‘I don’t think you’ve grown much since the last time’ and ‘I’m sure the old ones will fit’.

She almost sounds excited, and for a moment, Markus feels a tug of emotion about it. Maybe Amanda does support Connor in her own way. Even if it may not be the way she should be supporting him, she does love her son.

Markus doesn’t know what to expect, honestly. What kind of outfit is Connor going to walk out in? High fashion? Something a little more mainstream?

It’s nothing too extravagant. There’s no music to cue Connor along. He just waltzes out in a patterned button-up and slacks, but Markus immediately gets why Amanda wants him to model so badly.

He’s _good_ at it. The way he walks becomes entirely different from how he walks on a daily basis. His strides are longer. He has his hands tucked into his pockets. His face is devoid of any of the childlike mystery he normally exudes. He’s advertising a line of clothing, and nothing more, and he makes it look _good._

He stops at the end of the runway and shifts his weight to one hip. Turns and glances out like he’s looking at a crowd, and then pivots and starts back down the catwalk and behind the curtain.

This time when he emerges, Amanda follows. He’s sporting a suit jacket this time, and his steps carry a little more sway.

Amanda moves to stand beside Markus as her son poses and returns down the runway. Markus sees her out of the corner of his eye, but he quite honestly can’t take his eyes off of Connor until he disappears behind the curtain once more.

“Male modeling doesn’t quite carry the same energy as what you’d see on…say, America’s Next Top Model,” Amanda starts softly as she awaits Connor’s next walk. “In fact, it doesn’t particularly interest me. But Connor gives it something else. Some sort of little push that makes him far more than just your average fashion model. He could quite honestly be working for anyone he wanted to.”

Markus doesn’t speak. He doesn’t know what to say. Partly, he feels it’s not his place to say anything at all. So for now, he just listens.

“I can’t bring myself to understand why he would give that all up. He has so much heart out there, without taking it too far. He’s a born model. I would have paid to put him through any school he wanted, so long as he got to do this. Just look at him…”

As if on cue, Connor starts out again. This time, he’s wearing something a lot more casual. A dark grey denim jacket over a white shirt with dark wash blue jeans and heavy black boots. He struts with a lot more energy this time, and when he reaches the end of the runway, he fixes Markus with a smoldering look. A dark sort of patience that makes his skin prickle.

He’s absolutely captivating.

But it’s difficult to know for sure how Connor himself feels while doing it.

Despite that, he emerges back in his day clothes with that same hopeful expression on his face, and when Amanda smiles at him, Markus can’t help but smile, too.

“You may have been out of school for a couple of years,” she tells him proudly, before she reaches out to touch the side of his face, “but you’re still a natural. Please tell me you plan on going back…”

Connor frowns, before he lets out a sigh. “No, Mom…I really don’t think I’m going back. But you know, I do think I’d like to get more into dance.”

Amanda’s expression immediately sours. “Why the change of heart? Modeling was your dream…”

Connor sighs again. “When I was four, maybe. But I’ve grown a lot since then. I’m finally starting to realize how much I like the way things are going right now.”

“Working at a pharmacy? You like that?” Amanda pushes boldly. “Connor, that’s a dead-end job.”

“No,” he retorts calmly, “not the job. Dance. I’ve been practicing a routine with a friend. A routine _I_ choreographed. And I’m _good_ at it. And I’m happy doing it. I’d like to teach dance.”

Amanda visibly doesn’t like that answer. “That’s not much better than filling prescriptions. You really think that’s enough?”

Connor steps back. “Stop demonizing what I do. It’s not modeling, and I’m sorry if I misled you, but I have a real shot at doing what I want with my life.”

Amanda frowns deeply. “Connor, that’s childish. It’s work for a reason. You’re not supposed to want it.”

Markus thinks that maybe this is the most tense he has ever seen Connor. His normally warm eyes have darkened a couple of shades. He backs away a few more steps.

He looks like he’s about to turn tail and run when the doors open once more and Richard steps inside. “Kitchen’s clean--" he starts before he freezes. Markus gets the feeling he can sense the tension in the room. “I’m sorry—did I interrupt something?”

It surprises Markus how quickly Connor rebounds there. He turns and faces Richard with a polite smile. “You only missed me showing off.”

“Ah,” Richard acknowledges softly, relaxing, “that’s a shame. Amanda tells me you’re good.”

Connor just shrugs. “Well, I’m no med student, but I do alright.”

He doesn’t give any of them a chance to respond to that. Instead, he claps Richard on the shoulder and passes by him. “Markus and I will cook dinner tonight. For you letting us stay and all.”

On the road here, Markus and Connor had made the agreement to cook dinner on one of the nights they were here. He didn’t expect it to be tonight, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he fixes Amanda and Richard with an apologetic smile and jogs to catch up as Connor leaves the room.

By the time he’s in the corridor, Connor is already halfway down the balcony, presumably headed for his room.

He keeps walking even as Markus catches up to him. As they pass the threshold into Connor’s room, Markus speaks up.

“Don’t you think that was a little much?” he questions, watching Connor move to plop down on his bed. “Richard wasn’t the one bombarding you, you had no reason to jump him like that.”

Connor doesn’t even attempt to argue. He glances up at Markus and nods his head. “I know. Damn it…I’ll apologize to him the next time I see him.” He groans and flops back onto the mattress, letting his eyes fall shut. “I don’t even know what happened to me just now. I was so mad. Mom’s so hard to talk to.”

“I saw that much,” Markus agrees, moving to scoop their bags off the bed and place them on the floor next to the mattress. He takes a seat next to Connor and gazes down at him. “I also see what you mean about her being well-intentioned, but going about it wrong. She thinks she’s looking out for your future, but she’s having trouble separating money from happiness.”

“Church and State,” Connor quips sardonically. “In any case, I told her something that’s probably not going to sit well with her, so I’m sorry in advance.”

“About teaching dance?” Markus wonders, leaning back and resting his weight on his hands. “I didn’t even realize you were starting to feel passionately about that…”

“It sprung up on me,” Connor admits, his eyes falling open and moving to lock onto Markus’. It makes Markus feel warm all over. “Josh and I have been working on that routine, and then I taught you the box step—which got me laid, by the way—and it just…feels right, you know? I’m not going to dive headfirst into it until I’m sure, but I feel way more excited about it than I’ve ever felt about modeling.”

“I can tell you enjoy it, too,” Markus agrees. He can’t stop himself from moving to lie on his side next to his boyfriend, propping his head up in his hand. “You get in your own world when you’re teaching. Then again, you were in your own world just a little bit ago, while you were performing for your mother and I.”

Connor shakes his head. “That wasn’t performing. Maybe to someone who enjoys it more, it would be. But for me, I feel like I’m following orders. Always have to have my posture a certain way, no room for error. Can’t look anything but my best. I have to sell myself to agencies by being someone I’m not.” He releases a long sigh. “When I’m dancing, there’s little room for error too, but I’m having fun. People around me are having fun. I get to see people light up like I used to when I got a new move right. And I don’t have to be uptight or perfect or behave a certain way outside of the work. I feel so much more like _me_.”

Markus isn’t sure if his heart is melting or wringing out when Connor says that.

Not that he has much time to think about it, because that familiar expression of mischief forms on Connor’s face. “But…did you like what you saw?”

Markus can still see Connor’s modeling run vividly in the back of his mind. Even without the music, it had been incredible. Connor had been the only model on the stage, but even if he hadn’t, he would still have made it all his own. His movements had been subtle, but he had been graceful. His expression had looked like something that would have been featured on the centerfold of a magazine.

“You slayed out there, Con.”

Connor scoffs and folds his hands behind his head. “That’s not what I meant. I looked good for you, right?”

“Of course you did,” Markus responds around a laugh. “But even if I tried, I couldn’t come up with a single time I didn’t find you gorgeous.”

Connor raises both eyebrows. “Not even when I was all snot-nosed with that cold?”

“Nope, not even then.” Markus reaches out and pinches his boyfriend’s cheek. “Your face and nose were all red and your eyes were droopy and I _still_ thought I couldn’t get any luckier.”

“Uh-huh.” Connor smiles up at Markus, before his eyes fall half-lidded and he pulls him down by the front of his shirt, stealing a lingering kiss. “You’re so cute when you get all lovesick.”

Markus reminds himself that he can’t let himself get too wrapped up in kissing Connor while he’s here. Connor has made it a pretty firm rule that they’re not doing anything while they’re here, and once their lips lock, it’s a damn challenge for Markus to keep his hands to himself.

He has Connor to blame in part for that, though. It’s usually Connor’s hands that roam first, or his lips that fall open first. His tongue, like it is now, is always the first to seek entry at the seam of Markus’ lips. Before Markus knows what he’s doing, he’s lying atop his boyfriend, straddling his waist, both hands on Connor’s face, as he kisses him with all the intent in the world.

“Okay…” Connor grunts, clearly frustrated, as he breaks off the kiss. “Okay, okayokayokay, you’ve got to stop.”

“You started it,” Markus jokes.

Connor shoves him off by the chest and then laughs. “Shut up. Let’s just take a nap before dinner, okay?”

Naps with Connor are as easy as kissing him, honestly. Connor and Markus have been comfortably sleeping next to one another almost since they met. It’s like second nature at this point.

And after the harrowing experience that has been arriving at Nola and meeting Amanda, Markus thinks that both he and Connor have earned the moment of rest.

Needless to say, once Connor’s all nestled up against Markus’ chest, the two fall asleep without much effort.

It’s almost routine at this point for Markus to relive his past through his dreams when he falls asleep with Connor like this. But this time, he doesn’t. This time, his sleep is so dreamless that he’s almost aware of the fact that he’s sleeping. Hell, if he thinks hard enough, it feels like he can see around him. He can feel Connor’s presence against him, and the gentle pressure of his body underneath his grip. And…well, shit, he can see the room around him.

It’s foggy, almost, like the clouds have settled low and seeped through the windows. It’s an afternoon in May, but it feels chilly. Markus thinks he wants to sit up and look around the room, but he doesn’t have the strength to. His arms and legs feel like lead.

And yeah, he’s sleeping. Somehow he’s sleeping, but he’s awake. He can hear Connor’s soft inhales and exhales, the only sounds in the chilly room.

He’s about to will himself to shut his eyes again when he hears something. It’s like a gust of wind. Had Connor opened the window before they’d gone to sleep or something?

_“Markus.”_

The word is spoken like an echo, and Markus immediately hones in on the sound. He traces it to the doorway that leads to Connor’s bathroom, and he sees a woman standing there. No…he recognizes the woman. That’s his mother. That’s Christine Trent. God, she’s beautiful—just like in the memory from earlier. Her hair falls down to her shoulder blades in loose, dark brown waves, and she sports the same freckles Markus himself has. Hell, as she draws closer, he can even see that she too has one blue eye and one green one. The only difference is that her right eye is green, while Markus’ left is.

Despite the comfort of knowing he’s hallucinating, Markus tenses as the image of his mother draws closer. She takes a seat on the bed. Connor’s back is to the edge, so she ends up seated next to him. She smiles almost fondly as she lowers a hand down to the back of his head and traces long fingers through his hair.

Markus isn’t sure if he wants to beg for her not to touch him or if he feels relieved by the sight. Not that he can really do much about it. Either way, with her as close as she is, his ears are starting to roar violently, with an ebb and flow not unlike that of a washing machine.

And then, with a sharp gasp, he’s awake. Eyes wide, his breathing bated, he’s awake again. The fog has dissipated from the room, and the chill in the air is gone. In fact, it’s almost too warm.

Connor pulls back, frowning up at Markus. “…You alright?”

Markus nods slowly. “Y-yeah, I’m fine.” His hallucinations are growing further and further apart, but that doesn’t mean he wants to see them happen. It was…oddly nice to see that he remembers what his mother looked like, but at the same time, she’s not real. He doesn’t want to cling to a memory. He’s just now getting used to the fact that he had to let Carl go.

Not surprisingly, Connor doesn’t buy that right away. Markus watches his eyebrows furrow in thought, before he turns them up and shifts his gaze to meet his own, something like concern resting right behind the warmth in those eyes. “What did you see, Markus?”

Markus won’t wax poetic and suggest that Connor can always see right through him or something like that, but he does know that the other man probably isn’t backing down from questioning him until he knows. He’s pretty much been on this entire journey with all these hallucinations and this confusion and grief ever since the two of them met. In that sense, Markus kind of feels like he owes it to Connor to explain it to him.

That in mind, he sighs and nods his head slowly. “It’s just been a little bit since the last time I saw something, you know? This time, it was my mom. I didn’t remember what she looked like until very recently, but Connor, she’s so beautiful.”

Connor’s eyes fall half-lidded and his gaze slips down to Markus’ chest. He flattens his hand out right over Markus’ heart and smiles almost sadly. “I’ll bet. You had to get it from somewhere.”

Markus scoffs softly. “Thanks, I think.”

“I mean it,” Connor replies around a laugh. “Listen—I may act like I’ve got it all together, but I was so nervous the first time we met.” He curls his fingers, tracing little circles along Markus’ chest. “You may not see it, but you look something like an angel in the right light. You’re broad and powerful in appearance, but you’re also soft and warm, and the more we spent time together, the luckier I felt, because I’d never imagined in my wildest dreams I’d be dating someone like you.”

“Really?” Markus can’t help the smile there. He doesn’t get embarrassed easily, but he does feel some heat rise to his cheeks when Connor compliments him so heavily like this. Despite that, he brings a hand up to Connor’s forearm and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Because that’s quite honestly the same thought I’ve had on my mind since we met that night.”

Connor cocks an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

Markus scoffs again. “It’s just…you were so wise and thoughtful and goddamned _beautiful_ that it was hard to imagine you’d want to stick around me when you could probably find someone with a lot less on their plate. I’ve been a mess for the past handful of months, even with your help, so I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d have wanted to go meet someone who wasn’t going through so much at once.”

“You thought you were a lot to deal with,” Connor translates, and Markus nods slowly. “Please, Markus.” He gently pats his boyfriend’s chest, before he turns his gaze back up to his face. “Before I met you, I hung out with Daniel and worked at my job. It’s not like I had a whole lot going on. And even if you were hallucinating or having nightmares or beating up your brother, you were still just…such an incredible presence to be around. You might think you’re weak, but you’ve been pulling through the emotional strain losing your father has put on you with flying colors. I’ve only been there to keep you company.”

“You’ve been so much more than just good company,” Markus tells him perhaps a little too quickly. “I’m so glad North and the others talked you into modeling for me. I’m so glad we met.”

Connor laughs, and Markus sees a genuine smile crawl its way onto his lips. He almost sounds a little emotional as he speaks up. “Kiss me, Markus.”

Frankly, Connor doesn’t even need to ask for things like this. Markus is in a perpetual state of awe when it comes to him. There aren’t many times in any given day that he doesn’t want to kiss Connor. Hell, he can’t think of once when he hasn’t. So needless to say, he has no problem placing his hand on the side of Connor’s face and leaning in to give him exactly what he asked for.

It’s strange, the comfort a person can find in intimacy. There’s no rushing—no fighting to get to the point where their bodies come together and Markus takes Connor in the way that only he can. This isn’t sexual, not even a little.

Even as Markus rolls atop Connor and settles between his legs, it isn’t sexual. The two men are just taking a moment to revel in just how strongly they feel about one another. As Markus curls his hand around the back of Connor’s head and parts his lips, letting them fall shut sweetly in time with Connor’s, he feels so very comforted by the warmth that comes from the embrace that his breath hitches into the contact. Connor’s hands find his shoulders, and his eyes fall shut, and they’re just…feeling.

It’s just kissing. Kissing and wandering hands and a special kind of closeness that both men feel like they’ve earned as of late. Markus’ thumb brushes Connor’s cheek as Connor rolls them over and settles atop him. Their lips part again, and Connor’s back arches as he leans into the kiss. He takes Markus’ arms and spreads them out onto the mattress, folding them above his head. Their fingers lace, and he breaks off the kiss so that he can rest his forehead against Markus’.

“I’m going to teach dance one day,” he states with a surprising amount of firmness. When Markus opens his eyes, he sees that Connor’s are shut. He looks like he’s coming to a decision. “And you’re going to graduate art school. I can’t foresee a future in which we’re not in this together, so maybe one day, we’ll be living in a house together, and I’ll be inviting you to dance recitals, and you’ll be taking me to art showings. We’re going to be happy, Markus. Whether you’re hallucinating or I’m still trying to sort out my situation with Mom, we’re going to be happy. And I know that we are, because I’m with you.”

Connor pulls back a little and lets his eyes fall open. He doesn’t release Markus’ hands. “We’re strong in our own ways, but we’re indomitable together.”

Markus can’t help but smile a big wide, almost goofy smile. “Deal. But you know, it kind of feels like you just proposed to me.”

Connor laughs and steals another quick kiss. “You never know…” Either way, he climbs off of Markus and gets to his feet. “In any case, I promised Mom and Richard dinner, so we should go work on that.”

Markus is a good cook, and Connor is a fantastic helper, so they make a pretty awesome team. While Markus focuses on the more intricate dish—a lemon-pepper baked chicken entrée—Connor works on vegetables to eat on the side. Markus teaches him little tricks of the trade to make the corn more flavorful, and also shows him how to make the stuffing fluffier. Despite the tension of the situation the last time they were downstairs, the two men are having a good time.

And dinner…dinner is oddly pleasant. Connor apologizes first thing when he’s setting the table. Markus only vaguely overhears it, but from the sound of it, Richard is quick to accept his apology. Maybe, on some level, he understands where Connor is coming from with regard to his situation with Amanda. The man has made it pretty clear how perceptive he is, and if Amanda’s concern about Connor has extended to him, Markus could see why.

It occurs to him that just because Richard plays a part in a situation that’s difficult for Connor to adjust to, it isn’t like he did it with the intention of hurting his brother. He had formed a bond with Amanda, but it’s hard to imagine that he would have done it out of spite for Connor. On some level, Markus is sure Connor agrees with this, even if he still finds it hard to get his head around.

Either way, the conversation is simple enough. Markus talks about his friends back home, and Amanda and Richard listen surprisingly openly. Connor tells the story about the children asking him to do a backflip at the trampoline park. For a while, it actually feels normal.

But eventually, Connor cuts to the chase. He turns his focus to Amanda after swallowing down a drink of water. “…So what did the doctor say at your last appointment?”

Amanda shrugs. “Mostly the same thing. How lucky I was that I hadn’t had a major stroke, that my bloodwork was coming back better. I’ve cut down on smoking, and I’m limiting my alcohol intake. You’ve yet to see me drink more than one glass of champagne so far, after all.”

Connor nods. “So he doesn’t think you’re at risk for another stroke?”

“I’ll always be considered high-risk from here on out,” she answers with a nod. “But he thinks I’m doing well to take preventative measures.”

“Good,” Connor replies concisely. “I’m glad. When Elijah called me and told me what had happened, I got pretty scared.”

Amanda stares at Connor for a few moments, before she shakes her head. “I’m growing older, Connor. Aging comes with health pitfalls. One day, I won’t be around to have this discussion with you, you know.”

Amanda just has a naturally curt way of speaking, Markus is quickly learning. It’s not that she’s trying to be hurtful with her words. It’s more like she’s extremely blunt. She gives no room for optimism or imagination. She gets straight to the point and leaves it at that.

“I know that,” Connor says back around a sigh. “It doesn’t mean I’m wrong in making sure you’re around for a while, though.”

There’s a long moment of silence, in which Markus knows she’s debating speaking the words he and Connor are both awaiting. She stares at her son pensively for one, two, three seconds, before she finally opens her mouth and comes out with it. “Does that imply you’re going to keep in touch with me from here on out?”

In a way, Markus feels like she’s earned the right to say that. If he knows Connor as well as he thinks he does, Connor probably has the same thought. Either way, there’s another long pause before Connor gives her his response.

“Yeah, actually. But we don’t need to have this talk right now.”

“I wasn’t implying we needed to have any kind of talk,” Amanda answers easily. “But it seems you have something to say about it. You want to come out with it, Connor?”

“I just told you,” Connor retorts, his words clipped at the edges, “I don’t want to have this discussion right now.”

“That’s not how this works,” Amanda tells him, lowering her fork to her plate and giving her son all of her focus. “If you have something you’d like to say, I’m listening.”

“Not right now,” Connor warns her yet again. “I’ll talk to you about it later.”

“Should I leave the room?” Richard questions. Markus gets the feeling that neither of them should be here right now.

“No, it’s fine,” Amanda tells him. “If he brought it up, he can talk about it now.”

“Well, I’m not going to,” Connor snaps. “I already got the lecture earlier, and I’m not ready for another one just yet. Just drop it for now.”

Amanda raises both eyebrows, before she lets her eyes fall shut and picks her fork up again. “Alright, fine. But we _will_ talk about it later, do you understand?”

Connor doesn’t respond to that. Instead, he just narrows his eyes at his food. Markus notices he doesn’t pick his silverware back up.

Thankfully, Richard is ready to change the subject. He brings the focus to Markus. “So, Markus…do you have any pictures of your work you could show me? I’d love to see them.”

Again with the art. Coming from Richard, it’s a lot less pushy, but at the same time, Markus just…doesn’t feel like discussing it. However, he knows Richard is trying to save their dinner from becoming awkward and tense like lunch was, or like the encounter they’d had in the studio. Markus gets the feeling there are going to be a lot of these moments.

Is something going to give? Or is this what visiting Amanda is going to amount to? Connor needs closure, but it’s obvious he’s scared to reach out for it. His answers are probably going to be difficult to get, and they may not be the ones he wants to hear. These are all things he has to face.

What can Markus do to help him? He glances over at Connor, as if silently asking him that question, but Connor doesn’t look up from the meal he’s no longer touching.

“I don’t have any on my phone, no,” Markus admits with a heavy sigh. “But later on, I’d be happy to poke around in my email and see if I could find something from class to show you. Would that work?”

“Absolutely,” Richard answers with a nod. “You just come to me whenever you’re ready.” This is so different from the tense discussion he and Richard had had on the day that he had shown up at Carl’s grave. Markus feels relieved by it. The discomfort in the air thins out a little.

“What about you?” Markus questions. “You’re going into med school, right?” When Richard nods, he continues. “Do you have a specialty in mind?”

Richard shakes his head. “Not yet, no. I’ve still got a long time before residency, though. A friend of mine told me that most surgical interns don’t hone in on a specialty until well into residency. I imagine I’ve got plenty of time to figure it out, especially since I’m not even an intern yet.”

Connor looks up there. “But you’re certain about medicine?”

“I am,” Richard responds with a nod. “The medical field is one of those fields that’s always growing. There’s always going to be something new to learn. I’ll never get bored of it.”

Connor smiles there, and Markus relaxes at seeing him do so. “That’s fascinating, Richard. I’m glad to know that my brother’s doing well. Up until recently, I didn’t even know I had a brother.”

“I knew you,” Richard replies strangely quickly, and when Markus looks at Connor, he knows exactly what his boyfriend is seeing. The expression on Connor’s face tells Markus that all the color has been sucked from the room. That he’s being faced with a memory he either repressed or completely blocked off as a child. Markus has seen that same scenery so many times in the past handful of months that he knows how tough it is to endure.

Richard doesn’t seem to notice, though, as he continues speaking. “I was three when our parents put you up for adoption. I don’t remember my first couple of years, but that third one will always be burned into my memory.”

Somehow, Markus feels like discussing Connor’s situation with Amanda would have been easier than this. Connor is just frozen there at the dinner table, gaping at Richard in a way that doesn’t make it clear whether or not he wants to hear the rest of the story. Markus can only imagine what’s going on in his mind right now.

Honestly, is at the dinner table with Amanda and Markus here really the time and place for this kind of thing? Markus doesn’t bring that up, though. He’ll let Connor decide how much he wants to hear.

“You really don’t remember?” Richard questions there, surprising everyone because he’d started out like he had the intent to tell a story. “Any of it?”

Connor doesn’t speak. He’s still staring—still waiting for answers. It’s the best he can do to shake his head in answer to Richard’s question. Markus fights down the urge to reach out and touch his shoulder. He’s not sure if what Connor needs is comfort right now, though.

But despite shaking his head, he finally chokes out a response. “I…I remember being there. I remember my mother and father screaming at each other and going upstairs to hide in my room. I remember feeling alone.”

Richard frowns deeply at that, before he draws his own gaze down to his plate. “I’m…I was involved in three years of your life.”

“Richard…” Markus can’t tell if he sounds hurt or not with his words, but as someone who is still regaining his own memories, he wants to make sure the guy knows that Connor hadn’t intentionally removed him from his memory.

“I’m sorry,” Connor croaks. “C…Can we talk about this more later? I want to know what happened.”

Richard glances at Amanda, and then at Markus, before he nods slowly. “Yeah, of course. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Connor replies almost weakly. “I just have a lot of questions.” Markus wonders if the color has returned to Connor’s vision yet. “Food’s going to get cold if we don’t eat it, you know?”

“Well said,” Amanda joins in. “But it’s worth keeping in mind that you left that situation and came into a better one. You might not think it sometimes, Connor, but I did you a lot of good.”

Connor sighs. He opens his mouth like he’s going to speak, but he instead rights himself and steps away from the table. He shakes his head, as if he’s trying to find an explanation for his sudden self-dismissal, but in the end, he just turns tail and heads for the front door.

Markus follows suit. “Sorry, I’ll go talk to him.”

“You should give him a few minutes,” Amanda replies, stopping Markus halfway out of the dining room. “He’s got a lot on his mind. He just needs time to process it all.”

“I know,” Markus nods in agreement. “Just trust me.”

He follows Connor’s trail as quickly as he can. He finds himself outside, with night having washed over Nola by now, and just barely catches a glimpse of Connor as he passes around the corner of the house. He jogs after him, but slows down as he finds himself facing a boat dock on the lake just behind Amanda’s home. Connor strolls all the way to the end of it, and Markus stops short of the dock itself when he sees his boyfriend move to sit on the edge of it with his legs hanging over the water.

The lake is huge. So different from the ones Markus is used to seeing. Peering out at it now, especially at night, it looks endless and all-consuming. Strangely calming at night. Connor doesn’t break down or make a sound. Markus notices that he just stares out at it like he’s looking through its vast contents for some sign of an answer.

Nobody had expected Richard to jump to talking about his past with Connor, and everybody had expected Amanda to push Connor about his future. It’s just a whirlwind of different things happening all at once, and Connor has earned himself a moment. Even Amanda had said that.

So as Markus approaches, he doesn’t speak. Instead, he drops to the edge of the dock with Connor and moves to sit. He pulls one knee up and rests his arm on it, staring out at the water.

This really is calming. There’s something so peaceful and yet so chaotic about it. Markus doesn’t like big bodies of water like this, but seeing it in all its omnipotence, just lying there, opening its arms to the presence of two human beings, it’s relaxing. He finds it surprisingly easy to sit in silence.

It’s just until Connor’s ready to talk. Hell, even if Connor doesn’t talk, Markus won’t blame him. He just wants to remind his boyfriend that he’s right here by his side. That if he needs to talk or cry or scream, he’s got an outlet for it.

A good five or ten or even fifteen minutes pass before Connor says anything at all. When he does speak, he pulls his legs up and crosses them, resting his hands in his lap, and his gaze is fixed straight ahead.

"A year ago, Daniel bought this videogame. _Little Nightmares_ , it was called." Connor sighs, and then continues speaking. "Some indie game he'd had to download. In the game, you played this little, tiny person in a yellow raincoat, and your goal was basically to escape all the bad things that you were trapped around. One of those bad things was this...weirdly-shaped creature." He gestures with his hands, as if he’s trying to sculpt the very creature right in front of him. "It had a wrinkled head like a bulldog, but way, way uglier." A laugh, before Connor turns his gaze to Markus, and then back out to the water.

"It had these long, long arms, all angular and scary, but they could reach past the ceiling in some of the rooms. You were never quite out of its grasp." He shakes his head, his throat suddenly feeling tight, before he laughs almost bitterly. "Imagine my surprise when I realized that I may not be so different from the kid in the yellow raincoat. Somehow, be it my schooling or my concern for my mother's help, I always end up pulled right back into that long-armed grasp. And now, this thing with Richard…do I want to know?”

“Connor…” Markus frowns, but Connor shakes his head and keeps talking.

“I have so many questions about my past. I want to know why my parents gave me up, but kept Richard. I want to know where Richard was that I wouldn’t have remembered him. I want to know why they fought so much, and if it had something to do with me. Why else would they give up just one of their children and keep the other? Did I do something bad?”

“Connor, I’m sure it’s nothing like that,” Markus tries, swallowing down nervousness in his throat. “Sometimes, things like this just happen.”

It’s difficult to tell whether Connor processes those words or not. He still seems to be partially lost in his own thoughts. “In the game, you run from this thing for two whole chapters, before you find yourself locked in this room that the creature can’t get into. But it can stretch its long arms out and basically reach you with just them, no matter what you climb onto or hide behind to escape it. The only solution is to cut off the arms.”

Sometimes, Connor is extremely dramatic. But it’s not exactly uncalled-for. Markus frowns as Connor keeps going.

“Should I cut off ties and be done with it? Or do I want to see what happens when the creature finally gets its hands on me?”

Markus hesitates for a moment, before he shakes his head. “You came out here for closure. I feel like it should be the latter.”

“Me too,” Connor admits, though his expression darkens there. “It’s just…it gets harder and harder the more I talk to either of them. It’s a big pill to swallow, and it would be so much easier to run. To go back to my happy life with my boyfriend and all our friends. To focus on the future I want instead of the one my mother built for me in her own sense of well-meaning. But I’m not sure I can live with myself if I ignore her for another two years and something bad happens. She’s still my mother, you know?”

Markus nods slowly, releasing a sigh. “I don’t have any answer to that. In the end, it’s something you’ve got to decide how to deal with. But I _can_ tell you that I’m right here. I feel like your mother is trying, too. But…I don’t exactly agree with her methods.”

Connor scoffs. “Tell me about it.”

“But once you get through to her, I think she’s going to understand.”

“How do I get through to her, though?” Connor questions almost frantically. “How do I show my mom that I didn’t ignore her for two years because I hated her? How to I beg her to let me make my own damn choices for once?”

“Connor, I don’t know…” Markus scoots over and reaches out to take his boyfriend’s hand. He gives it a gentle squeeze. “But if you want closure, you’re probably going to have to try. If it doesn’t work out, so be it. We’ll figure it out from there. What do you say?”

Connor doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he releases a dramatic sigh and flops over to lean against Markus’ shoulder. He turns his hand and laces his fingers with Markus’. “I say we need a walk.”

There’s a shift in the mood there as Connor turns his head up and peers over at him. “I bet if you had a dating profile, it’d say you like long walks on the beach, huh? Toes in the sand, shooting the breeze for hours?”

Markus nudges him a little, scoffing. “Please. I’ve never been to the beach.”

“Well,” Connor’s strength radiates from him as he releases Markus and moves to stand up, “let’s go to one, then. Just you and me, on a walk.” He almost doesn’t even look like the same stressed-out young man Markus had witnessed this entire time. “C’mon…”

Markus just holds out a hand and lets Connor help him to his feet. “Alright, fine, I hear you. Let’s go for a walk.”

Markus doesn’t know how Connor is going to handle the situation from here on out. It’s going to be chaotic either way around it, and Connor probably isn’t going to like most of the answers he gets, but…this is just part of life. Connor has been avoiding this portion of it for a while, now. Now that he feels he’s ready to confront it, it’s probably going to be a rough road.

But Markus will be there for him whenever it’s all done and over with. Whether the outcome is a good one or a bad one, Connor has to know that Markus is here for him. It’s the least he can do to show his thanks for all that Connor has done for him.

For now, he focuses on enjoying his walk. The two clasp their hands together and kick off their shoes, and Connor gasps a little as his feet sink into the sand. It’s still warm from the lingering afternoon heat. Connor smiles up at Markus, and then breaks into a laugh, and then, they start their walk.

The normal conversation is like therapy to Markus, so he can only imagine how good it sounds to Connor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's the situation:
> 
> I'm EXTREMELY depressed. I've never actually contemplated doing anything to harm myself, but I have days where I genuinely contemplate my life and why I'm even still in it. Sometimes, it genuinely feels like I'm not living my own life. Like I just don't go here. And for a good long month, I legitimately couldn't function. I laid in bed when I wasn't working, and when I was, I was a grouchy shell of a person just slumping my way through my day.
> 
> And then I got slapped with all this financial stuff at once, just as I was starting to reach a point where I thought I might be able to write again, and I had to pause writing this to open up commissions. I'm not out of the water by any means yet, but these people commissioning me have kept me afloat. I'm still working on them, so the next chapter may very well take some time too. I'm done making promises about how long, because something always gets in the way of me meeting that, but just know that I haven't given up on this work.
> 
> This fic...it's seriously sometimes all that gets me through my days. Thinking about writing it and sharing what I've come up with with a group of what has to be the warmest, friendliest readers, just gives me purpose. I may be a lot slower with it, but I haven't given up on it, and I'm going to see it through to the end. 
> 
> So for those of you who have stuck with me all this time, leaving reviews or kudos or bookmarks or sending me messages on tumblr, I just want you guys to know I love you so damned much, and I wouldn't be where I am right now without you. You're saving my life while I try and pick up the pieces. 
> 
> You guys are incredible. Thank you so so much, and I'm deeply sorry this took so long.


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